


MEET

by Queenoftheuniverse



Series: ALTER 'VERSE [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Aliens that like human terror, Bad Puns, Bad joke aboot a mooses cock, CLOWNS!!!!!, Creepy stuff, Fast painful beggy needy dirty whoreish fucking, Imaginary spanking of James Bond, M/M, ManU are better than Arsenal, Multiple Personality Disorder, People being deliberately mangled, Secks, Suicidal threats, Torchwood characters, freak shows, man love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 41,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, John, and The Alters are intoroduced to a strange mute girl who's only  possession in the whole world is a King James Bible.</p><p>How can something so innocuous lead to a terrifying adventure in the wilds of Ireland, to a cave of notorious family of robber murderers, and the ghastly secret generations of the same family have kept to themselves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. THE GIRL WITH THE KING JAMES BIBLE

MEET

CHAPTER ONE: THE GIRL WITH THE KING JAMES BIBLE

In the beginning her first real memory was standing in the snow, looking at a huge wooden door. She had on a blue frock, too thin for the weather but she cannot recall now why she was wearing such an inappropriate dress. Strange really when later so many things came back to her.

Her shoes were new and in the style of Mary Jane, black, not tight. Around her shoulders was a stole of some sort of white fur, maybe arctic fox for all she knew of fur. Her legs were clad in white tights.

In her hands, held out like a plate, was a dark King James Bible with worn gold lettering. She had a feeling this was a tool rather than an actual book but she did not know then how right she was.

She waited, in the snow, the street lights showing little flakes as they swirled to earth. Someone, she could not remember who, had knocked on that great door, stood her in front and then they were not there anymore. She was on her own.

She heard thumps, a clunk, and the door swung open.

Yellow light and delicious warmth hit her face. That was when she realised she was freezing!

A lady stood there all in black with a black and white habit. A nun. She remembered. They were called Nuns. 

"Oh sweet merciful Jesus, what are you doing in the cold dear child?" the lady said. She had a strange way of speaking and yet the girl understood her. She dimly recalled lessons in English, which is what this Nun spoke, but with an accent she did not know.

She smiled. She had a nice smile and she had been told to use it now. Before, not so much. But now it was important that she show she was a good girl, a nice girl, a worthy girl.

The Nun spied her Bible.

"Come in child come in!" she ushered the girl up the few stairs and into the rushing warmth of her church. Once inside the girl began to shiver, and those shivers about took her down.

"Oh my poor dear, please, come to the fire!" the Nun said, then called up the stairs: "Sister Andretto, tea in the kitchen please, we have a poor wee girl about frozen to death!"

She dimly heard someone answer and then there were footsteps gently descending the stairs. A younger Nun appeared and gasped. "Oh it is way too cold a night to be out in that frock!"

"Please bring the tea to the sitting room Sister, quick as you can!" 

The young Nun dropped a curtsy and said "Yes Sister Mary Flannon"

The girl was then herded into another room, where the wonderful warmth of the fire engulfed her. She choked out a sound of relief and sank to her knees in front of it, shivering so much she nearly let go of the Bible, which frightened her half to death, with no idea why.

"My dear, what brings you here?" the Nun she now knew as sister Mary said, tossing a warm quilt over the girls shoulders as it was plain she was not going to move for a while.

She could not answer the kindly nun. Physically could not. She felt that something had been removed from her throat, and all that was there was blackness. She did not even try to answer her. And what could she say at the time to answer her? She had no idea why she was there, how she had come to arrive. 

Later she would remember all but right now she could not. This thought did not alarm her. Later it did but only because what she remembered was so terrible.

"What is your name dear?"

She could not even answer that. She had no idea.

"Sure and her hair is such a lovely red!" the young nun had returned with tea. She spoke as if the frozen girl were not there or simple. The girl knew she was no such thing but she knew she must appear to these kind ladies.

She handed the girl a tea cup gently. She reluctantly took one frozen hand from the Bible and took the cup by the handle. She sipped gently, the tea was hot. It tasted familiar, she suddenly flashed on another time She had had a similar drink but it was in a louder, messier place, and the cup had had a broken handle. She smiled at the nuns and then stared back at the fire.

"What is that you have?" the older nun asked, gesturing to the bible. She clawed it closer with her free hand, staring into the fire, letting the tea warm her. The shivers subsided.

She heard a sigh and some minutes of heavy silence.

"Call Doctor Watson Sister Andretto, let him know we will bring the girl to him tomorrow. She best stay here tonight." sister Mary finally said.

"Yes sister" the younger one bobbed again and left the room. 

That night she slept in a bed. She could not recall ever sleeping in one before. And she was alone. Deliciously alone, no other person was near.

She sensed this was something she had never experienced and this unknown feeling made her happy. 

Alone.

How wonderful!


	2. GIRL ON A WIRE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John examines the Mystery Girl.

MEET

CHAPTER 2: GIRL ON A WIRE

Lazy neck rapage with Sherlock was Doctor John Watsons new favourite way to start the day. I mean, the whole length of Sherlocks throat was a wonderland, how can any self respecting gay-for-Sherlock man resist its velvety invitation?

And Sherlock moaning sleepily, tilting his head so John could gain better access, well that was just sinful. John really liked how sinful they could get together.

"God I love your body Sherlock."

"Don't objectify me Doctor." Sherlock sighed, rolling on top of Doctor Watson to return the neck molestation.

Of course Johns phone buzzed then. 

"Oh poo, It's Sarah's ringtone. Clinic stuff." John sighed, sliding out from Sherlock to answer his phone.

Sherlocks phone dinged with a txt tone. They both knew it was Lestrade.

COME TO THE YARD. GOT A JUICY MYSTERY FOR YOU. -GL

"Got to see a patient, urgent. Sarah got a message last night, only listened to it now. Apparently it's a mystery patient." John said.

"Lestrade says he has an interesting mystery as well." Sherlock said. "The man knows how to push my buttons."

"No rest for the wicked." John moaned, rolling out of bed to stretch, cracking his spine.

"Nor us either." Sherlock said, slapping Johns pert arse and racing him to the shower.

"Git." John smiled.

#

John was fascinated by the girl the local Irish Nuns brought to him. She looked tiny in a warm track suit and warm ugg boots, bright red hair held back in a pony tail with a scrunchie, green eyes huge in her tiny thin freckled face. He figured she was about 12 or 13. She was clutching a bible in thin freckled hands.

When John heard the nuns side of the story he was more intrigued. Dropped off in a thin dress with only a bible, no recall as to where she had come from, where she had been, who dropped her off, how old she was, who her parents were.

"Poor thing has not said a word." Sister Mary said.

"Is that true?" John smiled at the girl, who smiled back, and nodded. She opened her mouth but nothing came out, and then she shrugged. 

So John looked inside her throat. Everything looked fine so John assumed her mute state   
was psychosomatic.

He asked the Nuns to leave and performed a full examination. Apart from not talking and her memory loss she seemed healthy. She was also more like 18 years old, rather than 12. It was her small stature that fooled him. 

When the nuns came back John told them his findings, then asked what they were planning to do with her. 

They told him they had an appointment to see DI Lestrade and John told them he was a close personal friend and that she would be in good company. After that they were going to keep her at the convent until the girls' parents or any other relatives could be found.

John prescribed antibiotics for a low level infection, vitamin syrup and a diet of good food and lots of sleep.

"Her voice may come back in time, but don't try to force it."

The Nuns thanked John and left with girl.

John continued with his day.

#

Lestrade was smiling happily at Sherlock

"Your doctor is seeing a fascinating patient right now. She will be coming by after her examination. I want you to sit in on her interview. I promise you will kiss my feet for this one."

"I will leave the feet kissing to my brother Lestrade. I am sure that would be more...satisfying."

When Sherlock saw the winsome look in that came to Lestrades face he threw up a little in his mouth.

#


	3. INSIDE THE BIBLE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Sherlock finds inside the girls Bible freaks him the frack out.

MEET

CHAPTER 3: INSIDE THE BIBLE

Lestrade sat in the interview room with Sister Mary and Sister Andretto. Their newest ward sat between them. She looked a trifle scared so Lestrade tried to look friendly. Next to him was Sally Donovan, and she was doing a much better job of looking approachable.

The door opened and in swooped Sherlock. He had been advised of the situation and, to Lestrades surprise, he sat quietly to the side of the room and smiled. Like a normal person. He even managed not to make any evil signs at Donovan. She looked slightly disappointed.

Lestrade had already got the back story so he did not rehash it for anyone in the room. He merely looked at the thin girl and said gently.

"Do you know your name sweetheart?"

The girl shook her head. She remembered very little. Sometimes she saw rooms of people and it was dark and smokey in her head. Sometimes she was bending down low to protect her head. But that's all that had came back so far.

"Do you know how old you are?"

She shook her head again. Age meant nothing to her. One year she could not tend the soup, the next year she could. 

"Do you know who dropped you off at the convent?"

She shook her head and gripped the bible. Tighter. Sherlock noticed.

"Do you remember where you were before now?"

She paused. Then shook her head.

"Would you mind if I...." Sherlock suddenly said, voice low. He was looking at Lestrade but could not miss Sally's disapproving look. Lestrade waved Sherlock forward. To both detectives surprise Sherlock dropped to his knees to look up at the girl.

"My name is Sherlock. You saw my friend John today, at the clinic."

The girl nodded.

"I do this thing called deducing. I can read people like a book. I can then tell them stuff about themselves. Would you like me to tell you what I see? Do you think it will help you?"

Sally snorted and whispered "Since when does he worry about other peoples feelings?" and Lestrade shushed her.

The girls eyes were on Sherlock. Sherlocks face remained passive but open. 

Finally she nodded.

"I can see you are Irish. Maybe when you DO speak again, because your mutism is not natural, it is being controlled by a part of your brain, you will have an Irish lilt, like these ladies." Sherlock indicated the Nuns, who smiled and nodded, proud of their Irish heritage.

Sherlock continued.

"You have had a life of deprivation but not to a life threatening degree. Not much time outside, and when inside it was a smoke filled environment. Many children surrounded you. Somebody loved you enough to send you out nicely dressed with shiny shoes. Your bible is very important to you but you do not know why. May I open it please?"

The girl hesitated.

"I won't take it from you. We could open it together." Sherlock offered, voice soft. 

The girl paused, and then nodded, removing her hand from the front of the bible.

Together, the girl and Sherlock opened the front of the Bible. There was lines of writing and a stamp at the bottom. 

Sherlock read out the writing.

"Thunder roars.a roch wind blows

darkness cloaks the day

there's a foul storm brewing and a

howling gale is dragging its teeth this way

wont you guide us Lord,wont you guide us home

to our castles yonder on the brae

for our beasts are weary and the Devil he roams

Down in Galloway."

And then there was a stamp for Galloway Inn, strangely in Ireland, despite being the place actually being situated in Scotland.

"What...does that mean, the poem, the Inn?" Lestarde asked.

Sherlock folded the books cover back and then pressed his hand over the girls own thin freckled hand. The look he gave her was so sad and broken Sally made a quiet gasp and Lestrade squirmed a little.

"I am so sorry." He whispered to her. Then he stood and turned to Lestrade. "Under no circumstances let that girl go back to her family. In fact, move her from the convent in case they find her. Put her somewhere safe Lestrade. Protect her. Like you do for witnesses."

"Sherlock, what is it..what's wrong?" Lestrade asked.

"We need to look after the child." Sister Mary protested.

"And get John and I booked into the Irish Galloway Inn. For at least two weeks. Starting the day after tomorrow." Sherlock said. 

"Sherlock-"

"Lestrade, please, do this. Don't argue. Please."

And the fact Sherlock said please TWICE made Lestrade worry more than anything else the Detective had said.

#


	4. GANKERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tortures Sherlock with three hours of Abba.

MEET

CHAPTER 4: GANKERS

"No Sherlock, I don't WANT to go to to the fucking Galloway Inn. I have clinic duty and Harry called from rehab and Ireland is fucking cold!"

"John. I would not ask if it was not important."

"You didn't ask."

"I would not have strongly suggested it unless it was important."

"No, Sherlock-"

"Your clinic owes you six weeks leave, we both know Harry will relapse on day eighteen and we have anoraks. Please, John, I NEED you."

Dammit, why did Sherlock have to bing out the big guns. Manners. He felt himself cave.

"Okay Sherlock, but I am driving."

"Okay John."

"And I get to choose the road trip music."

"Oh John, not Blue Öyster Cult again!"

"No, not this time." and John grinned evilly....

#

Sherlock had never been more glad to get out of a car in his entire life. He practically fell from the seat as soon as he opened the door.

"For a doctor and the love of my life you do a great impersonation of a sadist!" he cried before slamming the door and going to the boot. He heaved it open and pulled out his bag.

John joined him, dragging out his ex army duffle and grinning at Sherlock.

Then he began to sing "Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie a man after midnight, won't somebody help me chase the darkness away-"

"For the love of all that is holy, please, shut up!!!"

"I told you I did not want to come. It pleases me to have had you feel as trapped and as annoyed at me as I feel being shanghaied to come along."

"That does not explain why you continue to sing Abba at me now." Sherlock hissed.

John shrugged.

"That was just for fun."

"Sadistic prick."

The room they had been given was all dark wood and maroon curtains. A fire blazed nicely and the windows faced the driveway one way, the ocean another. The hotel was practically on a cliffs edge. On a stormy day it would be battered by salty winds, but today it was filtered with light sunlight and a brisk breeze.

The room was dominated by a four poster bed with midnight blue covers and curtains for privacy. John grinned, dumped his bag and threw himself on the bed, hands behind his head and legs crossed. 

"I have reconsidered my reluctance to come here." he said. "I can picture this bed coming in very handy, especially these four posts and some handy cuffs."

"Which you happened to pack." Sherlock announced.

John shrugged.

"Of course."

"Of course." Sherlock frowned. But he could not help the small frisson that ran down his spine at the thought of being naked and tied for Johns pleasure.

"So, now we are here, what do we do, what are we looking for, what's our job here?" John asked, not moving from the bed.

"First, we have a meal. I hear the food here is very nice." Sherlock said, turning and beginning to stow his clothes. "As for what we are doing, what our job is? We are looking for a legend who should have died five hundred years ago."

"Sherlock...." John paused. Sherlock looked over at John. "I get to be Dean."

"What?"

"If we are going to gank ghosts, I get to be Dean. You are too tall. You get to be Sam."

"What are you talking about? Ganking ghosts?"

"Sherlock, why are we really here?"

"I told you-"

Sherlocks phone rang then, so he stopped the argument to answer it.

"Hello little brother." He said.

"Hello Sherlock. James and I are in the neighbourhood and though we would pop over to the inn and have dinner with you." came the cultured voice of the brother a mere 10 months younger than him.

Sherlock did not other asking how Qunintin knew he andJohn were here. 

"If you must dine with us then you are almost welcome Quintin."

"We will see you in the dining room at eight." Quintin insisted and hung up his phone.

Sherlock sighed.

"Looks like Q and Bond are joining us for dinner."

John was up off the bed and sorting through his duffle in the time it took for Sherlock to blink twice.

"Bond is coming for dinner? Shit, I forgot my blue shirt, makes my eyes pop.." 

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. 

"Shall I let you have some alone time with James tonight?"

"I have first shower!" John said, as he disappeared into the ensuite.

Sherlock laughed and then got out his laptop. There was time to do some work before prettying himself for double oh seven.

#


	5. BOND MAKES JOHN FEEL ALLLLLLLRIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner, flirting, deep kisses and a promise to visit the circus.

MEET

CHAPTER 5: BOND MAKES JOHN FEEL ALLLLLLLLRIGHT 

In the end John settled for his nicest white T-shirt and his black jacket. He liked how his biceps kind of bulged in the shirt. He had kinda been thinking maybe if he sort of slipped it off sometime during dinner he might at the very least get Bond to lick his lips.

Sherlock had put on his usual too-tight business shirt in a dark green. He could wear a burlap sack and look gorgeous though. As could his brother, in a short sleeved shirt and nerd vest.

But James Bond was by far the sexiest fucker in the room. Casual blue and white striped shirt and grey trousers. Sleeves rolled up over those popeye forearms, upper body to die for, ice blue eyes that missed nothing. The man was so cool he had turned the restaurant chair around and straddled it, nursing a beer by its neck, and nobody told him not to.

It was late. Dinner had been pleasant and the conversation was light and fun. As much as Sherlock pretended to dislike his siblings, Quintin was his favourite, like a mini-me for him. In fact they were fringe to fringe now, discussing forensics some such disgusting matter, leaving John under the piercing gaze of Britain's number one secret service agent.

"So John, how have you been since I last saw you?"

"Lestrades party? Yeah good....good...you?"

"Yeah baby." Bond said in a softer rendition of Austin Powers catch phrase. He smiled and took a gulp of beer as John blushed.

"Oh man..." John murmured, but smiled. That had been a good night. And the fantasy sex with Sherlock after had been...mmmmmm, yummy.

"I know you served some time in Afghanistan." Bond said then. John was not surprised Bond knew, but wondered why he brought it up now. "Did you ever find yourself in Tikrit?"

"Never had the joy." John dry-joked. "Did you...serve at all?"

"In a way. All very hush hush." Bond smiled.

"Oh, of course." John nodded. Alcohol had calmed him a bit and it was now just two ex military chatting, as they sometimes did once the atmosphere was subdued and beer had been drunk. "Spent time near there, clearing out some buildings." John added.

"Did you clear them?"

"Not in time."

"Sorry."

"We were okay. The local village was the one that suffered."

"Civilians. Second casualties of war."

"Uh huh."

"I know what happened with The Major too John. Not much keeps hidden from me once my timeline gets enmeshed."

John snorted. "Nice way of putting it."

Bond looked fondly over at Q and then back to John.

"He's a tenacious little rat terrier but that's how he shows he cares." was Bonds comment. "I am sure you know what I mean."

"Holmes' are fun to love." John said. "No idea what took me so long to appreciate what I had in front of me."

"How has Sherlock been with all the men you are?"

"Oh God, you know that too do you?" 

"John...Q is my Quartermaster. He knows everything. But seriously, how is Sherlock?"

"He is fine now. Was touch and go. We still go to therapy once a month. But Sherlock went through a lot. I am rarely there for the bad stuff. It is usually one of my other Alters, whatever fits the situation. But I know they all adore Sherlock so it will be the Alter that not only looks after me but will also look after Sherlock."

"Must be a bit interesting."

"For him, yes. Takes six of us to keep Sherlock from being bored. But for me....sometimes I wish I would just stay John, and be John for him. My Da really did a number-" John stopped. Bond was staring at him with those see-everything eyes.

"Oh yeah." said Bond. "I know all about Da too. And John, just so you know, if that cock was alive today I would introduce him to my special brand of suffering."

John nodded. 

"Well..Erm..thanks." he said, awkwardly. On one hand, he would have liked to see Bond go Special Agent on his long-dead filthy abusers arse, but on the other hand he was kind of mortified that his man crush knew about his fucked up childhood and the gigantic lengths his psyche went to protect his sanity. 

Bond lent forward, smoothly infiltrating Johns personal space. He put those chiselled lips to Johns ear.

"Whatever you did to survive John, I am fantastically glad it worked." he murmured in such a low sexy tone John shivered lightly and his cheeks flushed.

"Get a room you two." Quintin quipped and Johns flush turned into a full blush.

The night ended then with goodbyes and promises to meet up soon.

When John and Sherlock got back to the room John finally got to take off his jacket. And there was the lip licking he wanted, but from Sherlock. It was naturally way better because Sherlock was his heart. 

Sherlock crossed to John and put his hands to Johns well defined chest. John looked up into those unfathomable eyes and was lost. Sherlock dipped his head and took Johns lips in a soft, deep kiss.

"What is it about seeing you hot for Bond that makes me want to fuck you rigid John?" he whispered and John moaned, eyes fluttering closed. Sherlock trailed hot kisses down Johns neck, backing him towards the bed as he did so. John allowed himself to be guided, pliant, under Sherlocks beautiful mouth. They fell together on the huge bed, Sherlocks whole body pinning John beneath him. 

Sherlocks hot mouth claimed Johns again in a deeper kiss this time, with tongues, then he restrained Johns wrists above his head. John whined into his kiss, arching happily. Pinning him like that, John realised, Sherlock was claiming him, despite a night of flirty-eyeing Bond.

"Am I yours Sherlock?" he gasped desperately, between kisses. "Am I yours?"

"You're mine." Sherlock growled. "And you know it John."

"God, yes, Sherlock..."

It was only after, after sweaty sex and a long shower that John thought to ask;

"Why were James and Q here? Near The Galloway?"

"Same thing as us"

"Oh. Ganking ghosts." John murmured sleepily, snuggling into Sherlocks chest.

"Yes my darling John, who I love so much. Ganking ghosts." Sherlock placed a tender kiss on Johns forehead and smiled to himself. "And also, visiting a circus. Who says I never take you anywhere fun?"

#


	6. CLOWNS!!!!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CLOWNS!!!!!

MEET

CHAPTER 6: CLOWNS!!!!!!!!!

"If there are clowns here I will strangle you with my belt." John threatened.

"Oh, I might like that." Sherlock paused in his stride, staring off to the Big Top down from the parking lot they left their rental car at.

"Pervert." John sniffed, and they resumed their walk. "But really, I fucking hate clowns."

"John, have you ever thought to man up at all?" Sherlock asked from in front. His legs were longer, he was yards in front.

"I think I should drag you I to the bushes, show you what a man I am." John muttered. Sherlocks laugh came down the path to him.

"I would have you overpowered in five different ways before you could say 'take off your shirt, Sherlock'." 

"Bloody smartarse."

They arrived at the Big Top at the same time as most of the crowd. It was the midday session of The M. Makers Travelling Circus, here for two more weeks before moving on to another part of Ireland. 

"They may say travelling but they rarely do, and their route has been the same for two hundred years." Sherlock explained, as he paid for two tickets and gave John his. "After this they go on to Fyshwick, two weeks after that Berry, and so on until they came back here and start the cycle again."

"And we are here...why?"

"Once again John, chasing a legend." 

They found their seats. John was not at all comfortable in a circus environment. He really REALLY disliked clowns.

"So, where are Bond and Q?" John asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"John, I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you." Sherlock said.

"Pft, Jo Mummah." John muttered under his breath.

"Do you want to know so you can accidentally bump into him at the popcorn stand?" Sherlock quipped, still scanning the crowd.

"That would be nice." John deadpanned. "He would probably pay, unlike some tight-arsed Consulting Detectives I know."

"You were quite enamoured with my tight arse last night, if those cries of 'oh Christ Sherlock you are so fucking tight baby' were to be believed." 

Johns blush went nuclear and he slid down in his seat.

"Bastard."

During the show Sherlocks keen eyes darted everywhere. He sat crunched down, hands tented under his chin, one leg on the thankfully empty seat in front of him. 

John got caught up in the action, especially the acrobats. He noted this was an animal free circus and this made him glad. He could not abide animals in circus'. Considered them cruel.

"M.Makers have never had animals in the show, even two hundred years ago." Sherlock deduced Johns appreciation. "Considered it cruel." and then he snorted.

"Well, it is." John said, but Sherlock was back to scanning and staring.

John was distracted from the spinning jugglers when he was convinced he saw James across the way but Q was not next to this particular man so he figured it was not him. However, sometimes Q was in James' ear so who knew. Then the man slumped and John realised it was not in any way James Bond. He gave up searching until the clowns came out.

Johns whole body tensed and Sherlock reached out to use his long fingers to stroke Johns inner thigh. This lovely touch and the resulting swelling in his trousers suitably distracted him from the painted horrors in the ring below.

When the clowns exited, John kissed Sherlock behind the ear and said "Thank you."

And intermission, Sherlock asked John to stay in his seat while he went to do some sleuthing amongst the crowd. John sighed, and closed his eyes. He had had a late night and, combined with the beers he had consumed, he was really really tired.

Sherlock came back just as the second half began. John managed to stay awake because there were more acrobats and then some trapeze acts, which always took his breath away. By the time the last breathtaking all in colourfest that marked the end of the show John was pretty much over sitting still and being entertained.

Sherlock waited until they were almost the very last people before he and John made their way back out into the weak sunlight.

"What now Sherlock?"

"We have tickets to a private show."

"Huh? Oh God, it's not pole dancers is it?"

"No, God, John, where does your mind go sometimes?"

"Yes, you at a pole dancing thing, not ethical is it...." 

"No, we are going to a Freak Show." Sherlock said. "Much more ethical."

"Uh...uh, okay..." John said, not sure if Sherlock was joking. 

"Oh don't get your panties in a twister John, it is not like the old days where we stare at them in their cages." Sherlock explained. "This is more like an Inside the actors studio type of arrangement. Only in this case, they are freaks."

"Uh..."

"And there are only twenty tickets for sale every midday intermission." Sherlock said. "Cost a great deal of money John. I hope you will find it medically fascinating."

"...uh..."

"John, it's freaks" Sherlock said. "It's not like little poodles are being cruelly made to jump through hoops in little glittery tu-tu's. It's deformed people."

"Oh yes Sherlock, much more ethical indeed." John snapped and tried to gird his loins enough to follow his lover into a nearby tent filled with good old fashioned freaks.

#


	7. M.MAKER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock in the Freak Show tent.

MEET

CHAPTER 7: M.MAKER

The tent was straight from Victorian England. All that was missing was gaslight and fainting ladies in too small corsets. 

Thirty or so lucky (rich, quick to get in line at the ticket office) people milled about eating snacks from a lovely finger food spread and drinking wine and champagne, the actual stuff, from France. 

Doctor Watson gladly tucked in. Early breakfast and no lunch made him very appreciative of the fine vittles.

Sherlock was not at all distracted by food or drink. He merely did his thing, glittery eyes .taking in everything. 

It was all so English Garden Party John hardly noticed when a very strikingly handsome man sidled up to him.

"Did you enjoy the show?" a cultured voice asked.

"Oh, ah, yes, I love acrobats." John said stupidly. The man was beyond gorgeous. Not beyond BOND gorgeous but stunning, with dark hair, chiseled jaw and eyes as green as tree fronds. 

"Our acrobats are the best." The man said.

"Well, I am not really one for circuses but my partner insisted." John said, waving in the general direction of Sherlock, who was now engaged in chatting to what John assumed to be a small boy.

"Here for the Freaks then?" The man asked, eyes twinkling.

"Do they like being called freaks?" John suddenly asked. "The term has been quite derogatory in the past."

"I see you are a man of principle. I admire that." the man said, then held out his hand. "Miach Maker. Eighth generation owner of M. Makers Travelling Circus."

"Oh, Doctor John Watson." John recovered nicely, and shook Miachs' hand.

"And no, we don't mind being called freaks." Miach winked, and then walked forward, clinking a spoon on his glass as he went. Sherlock broke off talking to what John now discovered was a perfectly formed midget, and all eyes were on Miach.

"Well, I would like to welcome you all here to the Freak Tent. My name is Miach Maker,spelled Em Eye Ay Cee Aich, but pronounced Mee-arsh, owner and fellow Freak to this fine Circus." 

There was polite applause.

"Back in the day, deformed people like myself and my extended family made a good living, displaying our lives to paying public. This all stopped when it suddenly became unethical to treat us any differently to you Norms, as we call you." Miach was not insulting when he said this, and who could be insulted with those twinkling eyes and beautiful smile? John assumed the only freakish thing about Miach was his devilishly good looking face, but being a doctor he knew a suit could hide so many things.

"So we were left without a livelihood and no way to find conventional work." Miach went on. "Until I devised a way to classy up The Freak Show, and now, here we are. It is an extension of my many-times-great grandfathers vision. Still a bit secret but with Freaks like myself able to mingle freely and still able to earn a crust." he smiled a devilishly handsome smile. "And now, do you have any questions?"

A studious lady put up her hand.

"What's...Erm... wrong with you?" she hesitated to ask. There were several snickers and John noticed more people had come into the tent. A man with horns, a bearded lady, some dwarves and a very very tall thin man.

"Nothing darling." Miach said to the lady who asked the question. "But if you mean what makes me a branched off evolution of the tree of man?"

The lady nodded, flushed.

"Er yes, I guess..." she stammered. 

"So politically correct! I curse Social Awareness!" Miach quipped and a few people tittered. "Oh come now darling, you are here to see Freaks. We are not ashamed and neither should you be. We are not being confrontational, well love what makes us different."

John found himself nodding. 

"I am, my darling, a conjoined twin." Miach finally said. "And yes, I use the new term Conjoined Twin because I am British. I have never even been to Siam."

John appreciated the flourish and smiled. He suddenly loved being here. He had always thought of himself a bit of a freak, especially after he found he was a Dissociative, so it was nice to be in a warm, comfortable atmosphere. And he hated the term MPD, or worse, Schitzo or schizophrenic, for his condition.

"Now, I only let my lovers meet my brother so don't be asking that my sweet. However some of my Freaky colleagues love to shock. Liana there refuses to shave her very impressive beard to conform and well, just look at how awesome Tigré is." Miach pointed to the tall man, who grinned and bowed. 

"Yes, I am seven and a half feet tall." Tigré said in a South African accent. "I gave up slumping at twelve." He winked at a young couple standing near him. They smiled.

 

"Now please, mingle, chat. We are here to meet you as much as you are here to meet us. Thank you for coming to our show, and of course, for coming to THIS show."

Polite applause spattered as Miach made his way back to John. Sherlock took this invitation literally and began to circulate. Hell, if the freaks wanted to meet a Proper Freak, Sherlock was the man for the job! Okay, John snickered at that.

"Something funny?" Miach asked, popping a prawn in his mouth.

"My partner." John shrugged and flushed a little at being caught out. 

"The stunning curly haired man interrogating Tigré?"

"That's him." John nodded. "Sherlock."

"Ah. What an unfortunate name."

"It suits him." John said "He has a nickname. The less evolved people at our place of work call him Freak."

"Ah..."

"Oh yes, it is meant as a derogatory term." John said. "He has embraced it though, taken the sting out of it like you. But the man really is a freak of nature. IQ nearly off the scale, the most intriguing mind you could ever hope to meet. He is doing his party trick right now."

"Party trick? Do tell!" Miach insisted.

"By simply observing he can tell your story." John smiled. "And in mere seconds too. The thing is, most people don't like being deduced. Sherlock just rattles his findings off sometimes. Ruffled a few feathers and so now." John shrugged. "He is The Freak."

"I see, well. I like him!"

"Oh he is a beautiful person, despite the reputation." John said, smiling fondly as Sherlock circled the room for more input.

"And you, Doctor?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you have a party trick?"

John paused. He felt less freaky in this tent of freaks than he ever had in polite company.

"Well, apart from trying to invade Afghanistan, and that was not JUST me, I have a condition l own as Dissociative Identity Disorder." he finally said.

"Oh! Well Doctor, you have just earned a medal."

"For what?"

"For not only being my first Dissociative, but for surprising me so much I nearly swallowed my own tongue."

John laughed and Miach joined in.

Sherlock gravitated over and took hold of Johns hand.

"Miach, my partner Sherlock."

"Oh, I thought you meant WORK partner."

"That too."

"Does being gay also make you freaks at work?"

"If by freak you mean in the minority, then no." Sherlock said. "I am absolutely fascinated by the humans I have met here this afternoon."

"Well, I wheeled out my best freaks for you."

"Oh I hardly think that's true but I admire the ones who DID come."

"Oh he is a smart one! Impressive!"

"I did tell you." John grinned proudly.

"You did." Miach nodded. "Yes, some of my freakish friends do not like being out on display. They have the right to stay hidden."

"So you have a kind of freak SafeHouse, only it travels." John deduced.

"A place of safety yes, where they can earn their own money and stay with their own kind. It is based here though. Very few Freaks actually travel. I stay here most of the time. My ringmaster, Pepè, goes wherever the tent goes however."

John was distracted then. A willowy man with a baseball cap was just leaving the tent. If John had a bet on he would have bet twenty pound it had been Quintin under the cap. What had he been doing here, in disguise, ignoring his brother?

"I must mingle, thank you for the delightful chat." Miach said then. John and Sherlock thanked him and Miach wandered off.

"What was Quintin doing here?" John asked.

"Legwork, for once" Sherlock said, and John smiled. 

"Sherlock, can we go eat now? I am famished."

"Of course doctor. Sandwiches, Devonshire Tea...or me?"

Those smokey eyes caught Johns and he gulped. His voice went husky.

"God, you, Sherlock. Always you..."

#


	8. A NEED SO GREAT IT'S LIKE ADDICTION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God damn this is the hottest thing I have ever written. 
> 
> Seriously abandon knickers all he who readeth this...

MEET

CHAPTER 8: A NEED SO GREAT IT IS LIKE ADDICTION

John was shoved roughly against the wall in their room of the Inn. His lips opened automatically under the rough kiss Sherlock rammed against his mouth. The aching, all encompassing need that surrounded Sherlock at this moment melted John to him, melded Johns deliciously pliant body to his taller one.

"John..John..." he moaned, lips all over Johns neck. John tipped his head back, letting Sherlock do whatever he wanted to him. It felt scary to want to devour John, and scarier that John let him, that John wanted it just as much.

"Can't.." Sherlock whispered, unaware he was answering his own sudden scary thoughts out loud. "....wrong...shouldn't..."

"Sherlock, the more you say no the more I want you." John whispered into Sherlocks ear. Sherlock shuddered, tearing at Johns jacket, sliding it down the doctors arms and leaving it pooled on the floor. He divested himself of his Belstaff and scarf, and Johns shoes, just as quickly, not taking his searing lips from the plush, hot mouth of his boyfriend.

Sherlock needed skin under his hands. He jerked Johns T-shirt up and slid the palms of his warm hands underneath and up. Johns stomach was soft, quivering, light fluff over the lower half, a trail disappearing into the waistband of Johns jeans. John moaned into Sherlocks mouth, and spread his arms, allowing Sherlock full access.

"Anything, anything.." he said to Sherlock, his voice wrecked with longing. "Take it..."

Sherlocks brain melted right there in his skull. So much of John, all his, he wanted it all at once. He licked at Johns mouth, and used his thumbs to brush over Johns hard, sensitive nipples. Johns gasping moan went straight to Sherlocks cock, thickening it to full hardness so quickly he almost collapsed.

"Take it Sherlock, it's yours, all of me.." John whispered, eyes stubbornly closed, lips swollen and red from Sherlocks rough treatment. 

"John, what is it about you, makes me want to love you and hurt you both at the same time?"

Johns eyes opened, stared straight into Sherlocks eyes. Stared, his blue eyes wet with earnest longing.

"...hurt me...." he whispered, mouth barely moving. "....Sherlock, hurt me...."

Sherlocks mind went true white with lust. His teeth were in Johns skin, his claws in his chest before he was even aware of giving his body orders. John keened, head thrown back and eyes closed again, pretty mouth slack. Then he hissed and, even though Sherlock expected him to retreat, Johns hard body moved forward, crowding into him, begging him, more, more, please...

Sherlock tasted blood and even that did not stop him. He sucked at it and Johns keening got louder, became grunting gasps of pain, and his body still would not back down. It curved up into him, fingers now weakly clawing at his elbows.

"More, Sherlock, more, hurt me!" 

Sherlock swapped sides, attacked the meaty part of Johns other shoulder with teeth gone to spams. Johns voice failed and his eyes opened, darkly staring at nothing as the pain shot through him and fizzled in his balls.

Sherlock sucked his teeth from Johns skin, spun his compliant doctor and threw him bodily on the bed. John tried to crawl up, or maybe away, but when Sherlock pounced on him again, he still exposed his throat to him and begged for more. And oh God, Sherlocks teeth in his burning skin, Sherlocks claws in his biceps, Sherlocks inhuman growls of pure lust!

John could not help it, he began to sob, the tears welling and pouring down his cheeks, pooling in his ears, soaking the sheets below. Begging begging for more, more pain, more of Sherlock. He had never even imagined a lust like this, a need so close to addiction, a desperate, aching want that broke him down to his reptilian brain, made him just a chew toy for Sherlocks gigantic soul.

John felt his jeans and pants torn down his legs and kicked from him until he was naked from the hips down. His T-shirt was urgently rucked up over his chest but then Sherlock was busy, biting every inch of beautiful skin John offered up to him. Ribs, nipples, sternum, abdomen, all bitten, hard, sucked, hard, the pain excruciatingly close to ecstasy.

Sherlock unbuttoned his trousers, unzipped, allowed his monstrously heated cock to spring free, leaking rivulets of precum in clear lines down its veiny length. He used his hands to lift Johns thighs up, leaving his doctor spread beautifully for him. Ready, begging, needing this now, rough, hard, taken...

Johns begging reached incomprehensible levels, the words more like animal grunts. Sherlock disengaged his teeth, yanked Johns wrists above his head and lent his full weight on the delicate bones just beneath the surface. He stared down between their bodies, fringe brushing the bruises and slash marks on Johns chest, to guide his impossibly hard cock to Johns graspingly puckered entrance.

"Yours yours yours..." John sobbed. "Fuck me Sher-" he swallowed his need, but it bubbled back up when Sherlocks cockhead breached Johns fluttering hole. "Noooooooooo Sherlock pleeeeeeeese....."

"Be STILL!" Sherlock roared, and rammed his whole length straight into Johns wet colon. John screamed in pain and pleasure frissioned down his whole body. He arched, and his legs crushed Sherlocks thighs. Sherlock did not look up from the delicious sight of his cock buried balls deep in his doctor, Johns muscles tightening and relaxing around his slick hardness.

And then....he moved. No slow build up, he just dragged his hips back and began to piston so hard into his doctor that John screamed again, begging for it harder, faster, please, so much more...and Sherlock did so. He fucked John with a cock grown so large with want that Johns tiny hole stretched gapingly wide, and just picturing what that must look like to Sherlock made John cry out in whoreish need.

"Yours! Fuck..me..Sherlock, YOURS!"

"Mine, bitch, my bitch, mine mine mine.." Sherlock was hissing like a demon, nose screwed up, teeth clenched, droplets of spit raining onto Johns stomach. Sherlocks cock began its constant rubbing against Johns prostate and Johns world turned to stars and agony. He screamed. Then screamed again, Sherlocks name and then, no words as he came and came and kept on coming, great bubbling white spurts of ropey cum, hitting Sherlocks face, chest, lips, and then Sherlock was also screaming, buried to the hilt in Johns hot arse, cock twitching in giant waves as his seed burst from him, flooding John with its searing hotness.

John completely passed out, a wave of blackness rose over him and he was gone, Sherlock moaning his name the last thing he heard.

#


	9. FAR Q

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor at 2 am takes this adventure on a scary turn....

MEET

CHAPTER 9: FAR Q

When John would not wake up after one minute, Sherlock raced to the bathroom, wet a hand towel, and came back to press it to Johns face.

"Come on John..." he whispered, then used the towel to clean up the blood, the cum, and the spit all over Johns chest. What sort of fucking animal did this sort of damage to someone he loved so achingly much? To someone who had already suffered so much? 

But John had begged for it, wanted it....Sherlock froze.

"Fuuuuuuck me..." he moaned. "Stupid stupid stupid!"

He had not fucked John, he had fucked one of Johns Alters, and not even known it!

John huffed a little moan, and moved his hand flat over his damaged chest.

"John? Please...please be John..."

Johns eyes cracked open a slit. He rubbed his chest again and then, a little half smile. 

"Sherlock..." he croaked. "You fucking rock my world...."

"John, I'm sorry..for all...all this..." Sherlock waved his hand at the damage, and soaked another bite mark. John hissed and Sherlock paused, but John pushed the cloth back, pressing his hand to Sherlocks.

"Oh don't you DARE be sorry." John whispered. "Don't you DARE...it was perfect..." then John moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he remembered everything. "Ohhhh, so perfect...."

"So..it was you John? I fucked YOU?"

"Well who else-Oh! Oh no Sherlock, it was me, John. I wanted this. Look at all this...oh my God, now the universe knows I'm yours...this is by far the hottest thing..in....well I cannot think right now by oh I wanted this Sherlock. I NEEDED this...."

"Do you hurt? Are you in pain?"

John stretched like a cat and hissed in pain.

"Hell yes, I hurt...all over...God damn, thank you Sherlock..." he stared into Sherlocks face, then used his hand on his chin to guide Sherlocks lips to his. The kiss was lovely, gentle. "I love you."

"John..." Sherlock sounded a bit broken and John deepened the kiss a little. Sherlock responded with a little hum.

"I need a shower...."

"You do, you smell like a whore."

"I am as you made me Sherlock...."

A long soapy warm shower followed, and then Sherlock ordered room service so they could stay in for dinner. John put on a light T-Shirt and some pyjama bottoms and Sherlock waltzed about in his silky robe.

They ate, and the Sherlock catalogued with his fingers and lips and tongue the myriad of teeth marks and love bites he had put on his Doctor. John shivered happily. He was Sherlocks, always would be.

They fell asleep in a tangle of limbs, exhausted and happy.

Until a pounding came at their rooms door at a little past two am.

#

John backed to the door, his highly illegal bit handily situated gun held in two hands. He nodded and Sherlock opened the door.

"Holy fuck!" He exclaimed. 

The tall, bulky, black clad bloody figure leaning against the door frame swayed. 

"Sherlock, excuse me for intruding-" came the lovely plummy tones of James Bond. John clicked the safety of his gun straight away and put it down on the dresser.

Sherlock motioned the agent in and closed the door, locking it behind him. Bond stood, dazed, in the centre of the room. John went straight into doctor mode. He catalogued the vast injuries on the double oh in fast succession. 

He was holding one of his arms at a strange angle. Dislocated shoulder.

Slash marks in his black top. Knife wounds.

Knuckles red and swollen. Bare knuckle fight wounds.

Blood flowing down the side of his head from an open cut, one pupil blown, unfocused gaze. Concussion.

Hand gripping a gun, safety off. Bond was never that sloppy. He must be very badly injured indeed to have left the safety off.

"James...would you like to sit down?" Sherlock asked softly. James slowly turned to Sherlock. It surely was only the fact that he was James Bond that was keeping this man upright.

"What in the fuck happened?" John whispered, crossing to Bond and taking his un-dislocated arm in his hand. He gently pried the agents gun from him. It beeped and turned off automatically when it was in Johns hand.

"John." Bond said. "John Watson." it seemed as though Bond was cataloging Watson out loud. "Sherlock Holmes." he added but did not turn his head to focus on the detective.

"James...please, sit down. I need to check you over." John said softly.

"Medical Evac coming." Bond said.

"Let me get you stable for them." John insisted. But it was like trying to move a mountain. Bond finally moved his steely unfocused eyes from John to Sherlock.

"Sherlock." he said, and Bonds voice hitched. "Sherlock...they have Quintin."

Sherlocks whole body turned to ice. Oh he knew Quintin was in MI6, and with it came certain danger, but he had come here WITH BOND, the superhuman special agent. 

"Who....who has my brother?"

"Sawn-" Bond choked and finally whatever had been keeping the agent upright broke. Like a puppet who's strings had been cut he dropped to the ground with a crash, completely unconscious. Then, he began to seize and John gave up the next ten minutes to keeping Bond alive.

It was only when Medical Evac finally burst in that John remembered to look to Sherlock, to see how he was doing.

He had gone.

And so had Johns gun.

#


	10. QUINTIN IN THE DEN OF EVIL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quintin is in so much danger it is breathtaking.

MEET

CHAPTER 10: QUINTIN IN THE DEN OF EVIL

Quintin could not believe he was in this situation. He was amazingly smart, had MI6 training and had come here with James Bond. 

James! 

Quintin squirmed in his bindings, muffled cries ineffective against the burlap rag shoved deep inside his dried up mouth. He was tied in rough rope, like a sausage, twined around his body from his ankles to his neck, his delicate wrists tied too tightly behind his back. He could feel blood on the ropes there.

As far as he could tell, James was not here with him.

As for where he was....it was a cave. A dry cave the colour of sandstone. Low in some parts. But the ceiling was black with smoke, which was choking the place now for the one fire on front of him. A cooking fire. Something was cooking in a pot.

The smell was incredibly disturbing. He catalogued at least 9 different stenches. Faeces, urine, old food, sweat. This was the smell of a big group of people living in close quarters. 

Sea water nearby, salt, ozone. So, an ocean cave. Obviously a network of caverns because this one was not anywhere near the ocean, it was too dry. 

Smoke of course. Cooking fires and fires for heating.

But the most disturbing smells were those of blood and fear. Quintin realised he was not in Kansas anymore. 

How had he even got here? All he remembered was traveling through the bushes along a trail, following the perky arse of James. Oh God he hoped James was okay.

Quintin shifted in his hemp bindings again.

He was thirsty, and bleeding, and his head was on fire.

Suddenly there was movement. Figures came in, dressed in dark ragged clothes that blended quite well with the walls of the cave. They all wore pants, and shirts and cowls that hid most of thier faces. They were dragging a bundle of rags behind them. No, smell of blood. The rags were clothes. Under the clothes was a human. A very dead human. Oh God, James!!

Quintin moaned and his heart began to pound in his neck..no no, bundle too small. Probably female or a child. Okay, not much better than it being James but James...oh God, Quintin had never wanted to see anyone more than he wanted to see James right now!

He moaned again, and would have sobbed if he had had any moisture left.

The tallest figure was talking. The others were listening intently. Quintin had an ear for language but this dialect was very strange. It was old, he could tell. Very old Scottish, which was strange as they were in still in Ireland. 

He heard the word for dead, the word for what sounded like knife, and then...he shivered. He was sure he heard the word for stew.

And then, Quintin knew. He knew where he was, who these people were, and what was in store for him. It defied logic, these people should not exist, they had not been heard of for over four hundred years. How could they still be here? How could they have remained hidden?

The tallest figure now turned and shuffled towards Quintin. Quintin had never EVER been so scared in his entire life. He figured, this was it. This was it....

"Be silent." the figure, a man, said in perfect French. "You understand me?"

Quintin nodded.

The man gently removed Quintins burlap gag. Quintin moaned softly.

The man snapped his fingers and used the Old Scottish word for water. A figured scurried forward, a dipper full of water in her hand. She passed it to the man, who then helped Quintin to sit up and pressed the water to Quintins broken lips. Quintin drank the whole dipper down, it was sweet and fresh and tasted of forest. It was the best drink he had ever had.

"Where-" he began, and the man backhanded him. Quintin collapsed to the ground with a bitten off whimper.

"I said be silent." he said calmly, in French again. Quintin had enough sense to nod. "Your name? Speak."

"Quintin" 

"Your skin is English? Speak."

"Yes." Quintin answered, in French.

"It is very pretty. Don't speak."

Quintin shivered in fear. If this was who he thought it was, then to him, Quintin was not even a human being. Quintin had officially never been in a more dire situation. He silently cursed James. They were looking for a legend. They found it. And damn Sherlock too. It was Sherlocks fault that James interest had piqued. Damn them all. If he got out of here alive, he was personally going to bitch slap them both. And John too, but that would be for fun. He reckoned John would like it, the little beast.

"You need food."

Quintin nodded.

The man clicked his fingers and a girl brought over a bowl of stew, fresh from a pot over the fire.

Quintin was hauled back to a sitting position by the man, and then the man dug a beautiful silver spoon into the bowl. He brought it to Quintins lips and, despite being so hungry he could eat a McDonald's hamburger, he slowly shook his head. He could not eat from this cave. He could not eat anything from this man. He would never be able to look himself in the mirror again.

"Eat. It is all you get." the man said. Quintin shook his head again. He just couldn't. The man shrugged and ate the bowl of stew with relish. Quintins stomach roiled but he kept the water down. 

When the man had finished the bowl was taken from him by one of the others in the cave, leaving the mans hands free to caress Quintins hair. Quintins insides curled and he stayed stock still.

"Good. Pretty. Perfect." the man said in French. Quintins analytical brain took over. The man smelled of soap and wine. He was not as filthy as the others in the cave. He must spend some time away.

The man stood then.

"Bring the body. It can keep him company tonight." the man ordered in French, standing. 

The rags were dragged near to Quintin and it took a lot of inner fortitude not to start screaming. He took a quick look. He took in jeans, a hoodie and pink hair before he turned his eyes away. He tried not to see the damage wrought under the hoodie and the jeans, the blood stains, the rips in the clothing.

He was given more water and then left alone. He had lost all feeling in his arms now, he was hungry, he was alone, he was terrified.

And he would have sung show tunes in a pink feathery frock to see James walk through the cave, bringing the Wrath of Bond with him, tearing apart this sick cave of freaks and it's revolting clan of evilness.

"James...help me..." he whispered into the night, and had to admit it...he was sobbing. Quintin Holmes was so terrified he was actually sobbing.

And then he said how sorry he was he got here too late and too inept to save the girl with the pink hair.

#


	11. THE CHALK PATH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What they find tears John apart.

MEET

CHAPTER 11: THE CHALK PATH

He is not at all surprised when he feels his eyes begin to roll in his head. John is too moral and guided. Sherlock needs a hunter, and from the black depths of his Alters a hunter steps forward...

#

Sherlock was cold.

Apparently jeans, a hoody and sneakers were not appropriate attire for stalking through the dark Irish night but they had been the closest clothes to hand. John had been keeping Bond alive, but he was too clever to have not noticed if Sherlock had started rummaging for clothing.

Sherlock slipped the hood up to attempt to warm his ears, despite it limiting his range of hearing. He was not freezing, no, his fear and anger kept the shivers at bay, but still, he was cold.

His insides were boiling.

He was furious at James fucking Bond for not keeping his beautiful brother safe. He was furious at himself for not letting Bond and Quintin know just how incredibly dangerous the quarry he now hunted were. And he was so frightened he would be throwing up if that very act would not slow him down one iota.

The trees he slipped through finally thinned to a silver path lit by bright moonlight. There, the same substance that Bond had had coated all over his black combat boots. White chalk. The cliff was the only place near here with white chalk. Sherlock clicked the safety off Johns gun and peered into the night.

It was silent but for crashing waves far off in the distance. Somewhere near here were a nest of people so terrifyingly off the grid they had crossed the line. Several lines. Not the least of which was touching his baby brother. 

Sherlock had to employ some serious breathing techniques then to stop the roiling of his gut and his brain. He would NOT crumple now. That would do Quintin no good at all, and Sherlock had already let his brother down enough tonight.

A sixth sense had Sherlock spinning his torso around, arms straight, gun held in both hands. Only his lightning quick brain stopped him from pulling the trigger. He knew the shape towering over him, one arm crossed across an impressively muscled chest, the other arm out, hand up in a "give it to me" gesture. 

John, it was John, silently demanding his gun back.

Oh thank God no, it was Fury. Sherlock sobbed once, quietly, clicked the safety on, and handed Fury the gun, handle first. Fury took it, clicked open the empty chamber and slid six bullets in, one after the other. Then he cocked it, took one step next to Sherlock and stared down the path.

Fuck fuck fuck, Sherlock swore to himself. Fucking John had unloaded to fucking gun the safety conscious git! He had come to face this terror with nothing more than a fucking shiny toy!

Oh but he had a better weapon now. He had Fury.

The frightening Alter squat next to Sherlock, bright eyes flicking everywhere but at him.

"I know you love him." Fury hissed. "But you ever do anything this stupid again and I will break your arm."

Sherlock swallowed. Then he nodded. He did not scoff as he would were it John making this threat. John could MAYBE break Sherlocks arm, if he got the jump on him and a good grip. But Fury? Definitely. 

Furys eyes were now darting over the path. He, too, had taken in the white chalk on Bonds boots even if John had not. He could also trace Sherlock by smell. Like a bloodhound. Those two tiny bits of information were like neon lights to a tracker like Fury. And here he was, next to Sherlock. The man he would eviscerate even James BOND for.

Suddenly, Fury put one hand to his lips. Sherlock froze. Then he too heard it. Way down the path. He catalogued in seconds all the sounds and tried to fit them together. Creaking. A small bleating. Two sets of sobs. Then two thumps on chalky dust. More creaking. One set of sobs moving away.

Fury was on his feet and threading his way along the tree line before Sherlock had even drawn breath OR conclusion. He followed, brain still maddenly trying to come up with a way to fit the information his ears had given to any possible scenario. The bleating was goat. That was all he had.

Fury had crouched again. Sherlock instantly did the same. Then they were up and threading along the trees again. Sherlocks heart threatened to explode as adrenaline hit, but he was master of his transport. Time to gibber in a heap later, much later.

They continued, silent in the night. Sherlock was grateful for the bulk of Furys body in front of him, he could follow like he was ghosting a rival racer in Nascar. It freed his mind to calculate, and settled the panic.

The moon closed down suddenly as a cloud crossed it. Fury crouched, hissed, and gripped his gun.

"Sherlock, if you have ever obeyed any order ever in your life obey this one now." Fury turned his frighteningly deadly eyes to Sherlock, locked onto him. "Stay. The fuck. HERE."

Sherlock nodded. He was not stupid. Everyone knew that. Stubborn yes, but not stupid. Fury says stay, he stays. 

"Good man." 

The moon was slowly exposing the path again and Fury slipped out of the trees, gun held in two hands. He was sighting along his arms as he smoothly glided down onto the white clay path.

Sherlock followed Furys progress with his eyes. In front of the marksmans' gun was a shape, crumpled on the path. Fury had his gun trained on it as he smoothly stepped towards it. Then the click of the safety reached Sherlocks ears, the gun was stowed and from the depths of the jacket a knife was clicked open. 

Fury crouched, and began sawing at something lying in the ground. Ropes. Ropes sprang free and Sherlock shoved a fist into his mouth to stop from crying out. He could not move even if he had it in himself to disobey Fury. Then a rag was thrown and Sherlock heard a gasping sob.

"John..."

No no no, it was his baby brother, Quintin. But yes, alive! Sherlocks vision swam and his ears roared. Sheer force of will kept him rooted to the spot.

"Safe. You are safe now. Sherlock is with me."

Quintin sobbed then said "The girl, I could not save her. I was too late, and they had me restrained. But John, I didn't eat anything, even when he tried to shove some down my throat!" 

Sherlock fell forwards on his hands and knees, breathing harshly through his nose. Oh thank God thank God..

"It's okay Quintin, you did well. You did real well. Is this her, the girl?"

Sherlock snapped his head up. It was then he noticed that there was, indeed, another body with his brother.

Wait...something was wrong...something was wrong with Fury. He was shaking, shuddering, like..oh God, he was sobbing!

"Ah no, please..."

Not Fury, JOHN! Well John did not say he could not move...so he did. He clambered down to the path his eyes on Quintin. 

"Sherlock..." Quintin choked, unable to move his arms to hug his brother back as Sherlock gathered him in a fierce embrace. His little brother was alive!

But John...John was unravelling before his eyes. He was sat in the path, head between his knees, defeated, head down, shoulders shaking. 

"John...?" Sherlock whispered, as he cradled Quintins head. "John!"

Johns head slowly looked up and he gestured to the body beside him.

"Gillespie...Sherlock...it's Gillespie..."

And Sherlock found himself remembering back to six months ago...

#


	12. GILLESPIE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back when John was not yet Gay for Sherlock and the Alters were not manifest, John invited an old army buddy over to Baker Street.
> 
> Sherlock almost destroys the future...

MEET

CHAPTER 12: GILLESPIE

SIX MONTHS AGO:

"Jon-Jon Jonny!!!!!" came the cry at the door, followed by a staccato of thrilled thumps.

"She's here!!" John cried, and bounced to the door. He flung it open and a mini tornado tore into the flat, tentacling her arms around Johns neck.

"Jonnyyyyy!!!!!" she squealed, and laughed.

"Gillespie! So great you are here!!!" 

Sherlock, by now, had stood. He raked his eyes over the newcomer. John had been awaiting her arrival with a trepidation that had confused and intrigued the detective. He had heard only vague references to Gillespie, and those were in the form of "oh oh oh what a lovely war." 

"The crap we got up to..." was Johns most often ending, after a Gillespie story.

The girl with her arms around John now, kissing him madly all over his cheeks, was not actually what Sherlock was expecting to tell the truth. All in black, soft pink hair, hoodie, flat sneakers, as if she were 20 not 34. Stray hairs of a not pink colour littered the black hoodie.

"This is my flatmate, Sherlock." John finally said, as Gillespie moved off him. She snuggled behind him, at least 2 inches taller, her chin on his shoulder and one arm draped over his neck and down his chest. Her green eyes met Sherlocks in a frank and open way. Sherlock was surprised. John must have forewarned her of his deducting powers. Most of those forewarned avoided eye contact and were frankly....cagey.

"Well, I am dead glad to meet you. What is my fave football team, and DON'T say Chelsea!" Gillespie said then, pointing a warning and fake frown Sherlocks way.

"Manchester United." Sherlock said and Gillespie grinned like a lunatic.

"Too easy, they are your mortal enemies!" John chortled.

"She is wearing Manchester United socks..." Sherlock added.

"Enough. Sherlock will show off all day if you let him. Tea, then we could all go out, play pool?" John said then, patting Gillespie's arm to encourage her to loosen it. She let him go.

"Coffee for miss--" Sherlock began, and for some reason could not entirely deduce her last name. He knew John had never called her anything but Gillespie.

"Just Gillespie and yes, coffee!" Gillespie smiled at Sherlock and then at John.

"Forgot. Sit, chat, I will be back in a tic." John went to the kitchen and then Sherlock found himself staring into the grinning face of Gillespie. She had her hands down the back pockets of her jeans and had not even looked around the flat, despite this being the first time she had ever seen where John lived. 

"So..." Gillespie said, still smiling. She pointed back to the kitchen with a nod of her head. "You love him?"

Sherlock squinted at her.

"You know he is gay?"

"Known it since day one"

"I...admire him greatly."

Gillespie shrugged.

"That will do for now." she said. "I am like a mother hen waiting or him to come out of the closet to me."

Sherlock decided this was a very odd sort of conversation to be having with someone he just met, but she was surprisingly easy to read...

All black took out the yellow tinge to he skin. The pink hair was silver at the roots, unnaturally so. Around he iris' was a very light pink ring. She was thin, and even though her eyes sparkled and she was happy, he saw a tremor...he had stored all this away. She was an open book. She was not openly hiding anything.

John came out with Gillespie's coffee and Sherlocks tea so she and Sherlock sat in the lounge room.

John returned with his own tea and plopped on the couch next to Gillespie.

"Fucking good to see you. How's civilian life?" John asked. Sherlock noticed he talked to Gillespie like she was a man friend. No polite holding back. 

"Hateful." 

"And Dudley?"

"Gorgeous."

"Cat hairs!" Sherlock cried, clicking his fingers.

"Aye. Dudley is my cat." 

The chatting turned to the war. They never did get to play pool.

And so it turned out that during the most terrifying time in the war Gillespie had been the medic who had saved Johns life. Sherlock had no idea then how the scar on Johns abdomen had come to be there but later, when he was told about the Major and Cans' decapitation, Sherlock was glad it had been Gillespie who sewed his boyfriend up. She had done it with loving care so that the scar was interesting, yes, but not ugly.

Gillespie stayed the night. John gave her his room. He was good to sleep on the couch. John could not wipe the smile off his face. It was wonderful having Gillespie here.

Sherlock stood in the loungeroom, looking at John, hand pulling at his mouth, thinking.

"Oh Sherlock, out with it." John laughed. Sherlock had a deduction he was dying to tell him, he just knew it.

"She's sick John. Cancer. Inoperable...."

Gillespie stormed into the room and slapped Sherlocks face so hard he was sent reeling.

"You are a fucking cunt Sherlock Holmes." she spat, her face furious. "Must you always fucking be the most clever man in the room?"

Sherlock held his face. He tried to say sorry but he unsure what for.

The crackling silence was only broken by Johns wrecked voice from the couch.

"Gillespie...?" 

"John...."

"...true...?"

"...aye...."

That was the first time Sherlock had ever seen his flatmate cry. 

He vowed never again to see that particular emotion on John ever.

A vow like that was made to be broken

#


	13. HOLMES BROTHERS SHOULD NEVER BE MESSED WITH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many feels!!!
> 
> SO MANY!!!!!!!!!!

MEET

CHAPTER 13: HOLMES BROTHERS SHOULD NEVER BE MESSED WITH.

Sherlock never went anywhere without his phone. When he pulled it out John laid his shaking hand on Sherlocks arm.

"Lestrade. Please, Sherlock, Lestrade...."

Sherlock nodded. 

He txt Lestrade.

Then he gave John privacy.

He carried Quintin to the side of the path, to hold him, to massage the blood back into his arms, his teeth hissing at the damage to Quintins tiny wrists. 

Lestrade answered his txt, enquiring about John, informing them as to Bonds condition, asking if they wanted Mycroft too.

Sherlock answered. Hell yes, they needed Mycroft too.

"James..." Quintin whispered in urgency.

"He is in a coma. His head was quite damaged."

"He fought."

"Of course he did. He adores you." Sherlock said, as if calling out bingo numbers. "How he even made it to our room I have no idea."

"He's Bond." Quintin said. That really explained everything. "John....?"

Sherlock looked over at his friend who had his head down between his legs, rocking.

"I don't know." he said. "Quintin..what happened?"

"We had a map. Of the cave systems." Quintin said. "Bond and I were exploring this path, trying to find the well concealed path to Sawneys cave."

"Sawneys Cave is in Scotland." Sherlock said. Both brothers seemed unaware that they were holding hands, rubbing fingers, touching. It was like this growing up. Quintin was the only person Sherlock had allowed this sort of tactile love. Until Bond. And John.

"When the family was killed and scattered....someone survived...moved the surviving clan here in caves so similar they felt at home." Quintin shuddered. "Sherlock...they have remained hidden for so long, we are in terrible danger."

"How did you get away?"

"One of the family. She hitched up a goat cart, put the girl in...and me, on top of her..." Quintin shuddered. The feel of that cold body under his would take months to dispell from his memory. "They speak a strange dialect but from what I understood...she had done the same for her daughter. Took her to a convent. Helped her escape."

"The mute girl. Of course. I knew it the second I read the poem in her Bible."

"Poem?"

"Ballad of Sawney Bean."

"Oh that poor girl...."

"No, she got away. Quintin. She is safe. So are you. Quintin, if you ever left me..."

"I won't, Sherlock, this was as close as I will ever get to leaving." Quintin whispered, putting his hand to Sherlocks panicked face. 

These Holmes' had a weird upbringing but it worked, for them. Four genius boys running wild in a mansion the size of Shropshire, domineering and borderline abusive father, kindly well drugged mother. If they found solace in each others company they did not begrudge each other.

"We need to clear the cave again. This time, do it right." Sherlock vowed. "Quintin, in your opinion, could this family..the remnants of Sawney Beans revolting legacy...could any of them be rehabilitated?"

Quintin shook his head. "Sherlock I guess there was maybe...fourty-eight, maybe fifty people in that cave. The lady, the mother, who got her daughter out, then did the same for me and..." he waved over at John. "Even she...ate with the family. Sherlock, I want to be kind, I want to give them a chance...but..." he swivelled his luminous eyes to husk brothers. "They kill and eat people. There is no going back from that."

Sherlock nodded.

Then he heard the helicopter.

#

John nearly broke down when the soft voice and strong arms of Lestrade found him.

"John..." the silver fox whispered, crouching next to the Army doctor. John fell against him, hands, clutching the detective inspectors coat in his fingers. "God, John...what happened?"

Johns sobs were silent now but his whole body thrummed in grief. He had no words, but he was so grateful that Lestrade was here he felt his grief turn to anger. And he allowed it. 

"John..." Lestrade could feel the change come over the doctor. "Calm down please."

"Gillespie...." John hissed. 

He recalled the pixie face of his fierce friend, facing the ghastly sight of Johns insides becoming his outsides, having to move the decapitated head of their fellow army buddy in order to asses the damage...

He remembered her nuddy run one day when the boredom made them all do stupid things. Her pale flesh flashing by in only boots and a helmet. Her hair had been brown then, and longer...

He recalled her steady presence in firefight after firefight, her thanking John when an insurgent would have taken her life, him returning the favour when a suicide bomber tried to take her with him to his version of heaven.

Her laughing face, her fierce anger...her stoic resistance crumbling under the gigantic weight of her cancerous death sentence.

That stiffening pile of dissected meat was not Gillespie. It was not...

"How had she even come here Greg?" he whispered. Red heated anger rose in Johns chest, and suddenly he shimmied, and Fury arrived. He shoved away from Lestrade, surged to his feet and pulled his gun from his jacket. Lestrade rolled and was on his feet, but Fury was faster. The Alter had taken off running.

"Fury, NO!" 

As long as he lived, Greg Lestrade would forever remember the abject terror in Sherlock Holmes scream as he tore off after John. 

#

Mycroft Holmes was not known for his many outward emotions but when he saw the devastation that had been wrought on his youngest brother, and the carefully cultivated dead flat eyes of his next youngest brother, he was hit by the coldest sense of irascibility he was almost paralysed by it.

Medics gently lifted Quintin and put him on a stretcher, covering him with warm blankets and strapping an oxygen mask to his face. Pain relief and an IV were hooked up and then his darling brother was gently whisked away, back to the helicopter.

Mycroft looked over at his boyfriend who was clutching John Watson to him, took in the dead body, then swept his eyes back to Sherlock, who was staring impassively at his older brother.

"Do I need to send in a firestorm Sherlock?"

"Yes you do Mycroft." Sherlock said, finding comfort in the fact that he and Mycroft were actually on the same page for once. "But not yet. Not yet..there are things I have to do."

Mycroft paused, then nodded. Knowing his Detective Inspector would like to stay, it had been tacitly agreed upon on the flight in, he turned swiftly and followed the stretcher back to the helicopter.

Sherlock watched him go.

When he turned back it was in time to see Fury arrive, and tear himself from Lestrade. A terror unlike he had ever known gripped Sherlocks heart and he screamed "Fury, NO!" before he raced past Lestrade and sprinted off after TheFuryandtheFear, who had taken control of John and was racing towards certain death. 

Not on Sherlocks God damned watch!

Lestrade had never seen Sherlock run so fast before in his life. In four seconds flat he had caught up to Fury, launched himself in the air and crash tackled the stocky Doctor to the harsh tundra of the cliff. Johns gun flew from his hand and Lestrade heard the air huff from the doctors lungs.

By the time Lestrade had caught up Sherlock was cradling the doctor, fighting his flailing arms.

John was gasping and staring at nothing, tearing at his own face in anger and grief and terror and helplessness.

"Fury please, stop stop!" Sherlock was weeping helplessly, trying to grab Johns hands. "Please PLEASE!"

With a final roar of pure anger John fell against Sherlock and began to cry in earnest, real grieving sobs for his beautiful friend who was lost to him.

"Gillespie...please, please...don't do this to me, don't leave..."

"John..." Sherlocks broken voice whispered harshly.

Lestade felt coldness on his face a realised once again John Watson had made him cry. Of course he was in love with Watson, who wasn't, the man was amazing, but he could not, would not, ever have him. His loyalty to the man, and to Mycroft, however, made him want to smash walls and kick heads.

He turned his face to the rising sun, feeling the heat and wind on his face, and curled his fists.

Today...today he would make everything alright.

#


	14. YOU MAY THANK YOUR LOCAL GOVERNMENT WITH CUPPYCAKES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VENGENCE is mine, sayeth the Mycroft.

MEET

CHAPTER 14: YOU MAY THANK YOUR LOCAL GOVERNMENT WITH CUPPYCAKES

Back at the Inn John had a shower, changed into pyjamas and curled into bed. He was silent, needed nothing but sleep. Gillespie was in the morgue. She was really actually dead. For real. His exhausted mind stopped that line of thinking, and then stopped thinking altogether.

He fell into an exhausted sleep.

Lestrade and Sherlock took themselves down to the Inns dining room for breakfast. 

Lestrade let Sherlock know that the mute girl whose mother had helped her escape her cannibal family was now in a foster family.

"They have given her the name Mary, after the nun who looked after her." Lestrade said, sipping his tea. "She has not spoken yet but John was right. It is all in her head. And any wonder if she grew up in a cave of murdering-"

"How did nobody notice?" Sherlock asked. 

"They never hunted for food around here Sherlock. They hunted elsewhere and brought it back with them."

"This food Lestrade...is people. Humans. How could you go out hunting and bring back...Ohhhh..." Sherlock paused. "Stupid stupid stupid...the circus!"

"The circus?"

"The travelling circus Lestrade. How could I have been so obtuse? Someone, or someONES, attached to the circus is a hunter. I need my phone.."

Sherlock brought out his phone and in 8 minutes had several missing persons that coincided with every stop the circus made. 

"Lestrade, is that enough evidence to investigate?"

Lestrade was already on the phone. He nodded. Gave orders. 

"Got a warrant about to be typed up, got local cops ready, got my detectives sorted. NOT Anderson. Possibly Sally though." Lestrade offered.

"She is at least competent enough."

Lestrades phone buzzed.

"Txt from Mycroft. Quintin in going to be fine. Bond is awake and will recover."

Sherlock nodded and his thoughts turned to the man he loved, sleeping upstairs.

"Why was Gillespie even here..."

"Did she go to the circus?"Lestrade asked.

"I doubt it. She was very ill...oh."

"Stupid stupid stupid...?" Lestrade asked, and had the affrontery to look amused.

Sherlock pierced him with SUCH a look.

"She was looking for a cure." the Consulting Detective said. "Conventional medicine could not help. She was looking for a natural remedy. There is a faith healer at the circus side show. Lestrade...she....wanted to live..." Sherlocks throat closed over and he could not talk anymore. 

Lestrade nodded. He understood the desperate need to live. He had been on the verge of dying too many times to count as a young beat cop and even now, as Detective Inspector.

"It may not have worked Sherlock but she had to try."

"For Dudley...." Sherlock choked. "I need to see John. Lestrade....will you..be.."

"Don't strain yourself Sherlock, I will be fine. Go. Look after John."

Sherlock hurried away.

Lestrade finally answered Mycrofts txt.

"Send in MI6. Burn them all."

#

Sherlock lent over his sleeping doctor. He looked peaceful. Relaxed. Much younger. Sherlock stroked Johns cheekbone with one finger.

What had happened to Sherlock since this amazing man had limped into his life at St Barts?

Gone was the lonely work obsessed Aspergers Freak. John had made him more....human. Sherlock did not think he could physically love anyone more than he could ever love John Watson, a short, beautiful, ordinary Army Doctor with the eyes of an angel and the sinful lips of the devil.

That anyone would hurt him...that anyone could even ever think of causing the sort of grief he had witnessed on his lover today...

Sherlock had to do some deep tantric breathing exercises, clutching his fists to his chest until the red rage passed.

Then suddenly he heard two fighter jets overhead.

CRUMP CRUMP CRUMP

The whole hotel shook and John rolled out of bed, his gun in his hand.

"John, no, not Afghanistan...look, look, come here love.."

Sherlock took John by the hand and led him to the window that overlooked the cliff. Smoke rose on the horizon, heavy, greasy and black. 

"....oh...." John said. And then...."Oh...."

Sherlock wound his arms around John and held him close to his chest, allowing the doctor to keep his gun. For now. Whatever made John feel safe. 

John sighed, a huge, fortifying intake of air. Sherlock kissed behind Johns ear, keeping his eyes on the growing smoke. 

"Natural gas leak I take it." John whispered. Sherlock chuckled low in Johns ear.

"Terrible accident waiting to happen. Luckily our Government has our best interests at heart and could dispel the dangerous pockets of gas that had built up."

"With gigantic missiles."

"No expense spared to keep Britain safe."

"Have I mentioned how much I love Mycroft lately?"

"No, John, you never expressed any love for Mycroft."

John turned in Sherlocks arms and took the detectives lips in his own, kissing him slowly, licking his mouth open, loving him just with his lips and tongue. Sherlock growled low and kissed his doctor back, pouring as much love as he could through this simple act. And John gave as much back. After all the bad feels it was so refreshing to just kiss the man he loved and be loved back.

"I love you." said one

"I adore you." the other answered, and the sweet smell of vengeful smoke drifted over them.

#


	15. SMUT BREAK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q sitting in a tree..
> 
> Sherlock and Hamish...sitting in the tree next to them.
> 
> Not literal trees, I was being funny.

MEET

CHAPTER 15: SMUT BREAK!

Quintin sat by Bonds bedside in the sterile bright white MI6 hospital. James had come to 13 hours before but this was the first time Q had got in to see his lover. 

Quintin had recovered remarkably well physically. The only outward sign he had suffered anything was the bands of bandages around his thin wrists.

He held Bonds hand. Sentiment. Sometimes it was not for the weak. It was for the very exceedingly wonderfully strong. 

Bond was breathing on his own but had little oxygen tubes in his nostrils. One side of his face was swollen, one arm was in a sling and he had various knife wounds scattered on his bare chest.

The heart monitor booped strongly and Q was sappy for its beat.

Bond stirred a bit and his hand clenched Quintins. When Q looked up those arctic eyes were boring into him. The chiseled face gave nothing away.

"Bond..."

"You're safe." James stated, voice low. "They told me. I needed to see...they wouldn't let me."

"Sherlock and Mycroft pulled me out. I'm fine James. But you look a bit shit."

"Q...when they had you..."

"I know."

"I would have torn them apart with my fingernails..."

"I KNOW Bond." Q whispered. "Shut up, I know."

"I never want to feel like that agin Q." Bond said, then, as Q opened his mouth to protest again, snapped: "Don't tell me to shut up Quintin Sherringford Holmes. I am fucking double oh seven!"

Q snapped his jaw shut. He liked it when Bond went all MI6.

"...I should have been able to help you, to stop them."

"Like you stopped Silva from killing M? Shit HAPPENS Bond. Shit ALWAYS happens. It's how you deal after that makes you okay." Q stood and kissed Bond on his perfect lips. "And you, James, will always be okay. Long as you treat me right and buy me pretty things."

"Christ Q...I love you."

"I don't blame you. I am fucking gorgeous." Q whispered.

#

Sherlock was reading the local paper. It was late. John was sleeping snuggled next to him. They still had a few days left at the Inn and were taking it easy.

Sherlock wanted to check in on the circus the next day then after that he would probably spend the day dangling shiny things in front of John to keep him from wanting to go to the caves, to check the damage, check to see of any of that awful Sawney Beans family was left, check and reassure himself that they were all gone.

Sherlock knew they had. Nothing but destruction was left. Mycroft had sent a report and new M had sent pictures. Fifty three bodies, as far as anybody knew, nobody had escaped.

Sherlock also knew that this would not be good enough for John, and, even with all the respect Sherlock had for John, the detective would not allow his doctor to go near those caves. Ever.

John stirred next to him and a long warm arm slid over his chest. Sherlock smiled. 

"Don't stop reading. Don't let me distract you..." Johns voice was deep and husky. He ran the flat of his hand over Sherlocks shirt, and paused at his nipple. He left his warm palm there.

"Is that a challenge Doctor Watson?"

John rolled on top of Sherlock, dragging Sherlocks shirt up and using his tongue where his palm had just been pressing. Sherlock gasped but did not stop reading. At least, did not stop pretending to read. Oh, that mouth...

"Not John." said his bed partner.

Sherlocks breath hitched. "Oh...."

Somehow, not knowing was exciting.

"Don't...don't tell me...let me guess..."

"That's hardly difficult Detective." came the low voice, between long slow licks. "Process of elimination."

"Not fast enough or dirty enough to be Flirt." Sherlock said, arching into that hot tongue. "Not..oh.." He paused, allowing the man to roll his other nipple. He forgot...stuff...

"Hamish...."

"Bingo." Hamish said, still licking. "Your paper, Sherlock."

"Yes, of course..." he made an effort, he really did, but Hamish was slow and gentle and methodical and taking him apart with just his mouth.

"Anything interesting?" Hamish asked, using his lips and tongue to trail down Sherlocks beautiful stomach. And those pinching fingers, rolling his nipple, pain and kisses. He could barley even hold the paper up.

"Nothing...of note..." Sherlock gasped, arching his now hard cock into anything remotely resembling friction. "Please..."

"Please...?"

"Hamish..."

Hamish hummed, smiling, dipping lower.

"Keep reading Sherlock. I am sure it is very important."

"Earth shattering...."

The paper was long forgotten, cast aside. Sherlock put his hands on Hamishs' broad shoulders and dug his fingers in.

"Hamish...."

"You want my hand here, Sherlock?" Hamish dropped his hand to Sherlocks cock and palmed it over his pyjamas. Sherlock bit his bottom lip and nodded enthusiastically, curls bobbing. "Or here...?" Hamish moved the hand from Sherlocks cock and used both hands on both nipples, rolling them so hard as to be on the verge of painful.

Sherlock whimpered.

"Both...Hamish...both please..."

"Greedy." Hamish said. "I think I will use my mouth on your cock instead."

"God.." was all poor Sherlock could say.

Hamish slid Sherlocks pants down, exposing his beautifully hard cock. 

"Lovely..." Hamish licked at the dewey slit and Sherlock fisted the covers. Hamish slid Sherlocks pants right down and off, leaving him naked from the nipples down. More licking caused Sherlocks hips to stutter. "Ooooo, I have an idea.." Hamish cooed.

Hamish sat back, leaning against the footboard of the bed. He got out his own hard cock, and stroked it.

"Touch yourself." he said to Sherlock. "Show me...how you fuck yourself on that beautiful cock of yours."

Sherlocks eyes lidded and the pink tip of his tongue darted out to lick his lips. He let the fingertips of his fingers trail over his chest, leaving one to tease the hard bud of his nipple, and letting the other one smooth down the planes of his hip to tease over the velvet of his hard cock.

"Nice..." Hamish purred, touching his own cock in response to Sherlocks heat. "Do it, Sherlock, touch yourself. Show me how you love yourself when I am not around."

Sherlock did not say "I don't need to wank anymore, I have you." John had taught him not to be so literal.

Also, Sherlock wanted to put on a show for Hamish. Make Hamish WANT him, crave him, give in and suck him.

So Sherlock slicked his cock with precum and, eyes pinning Hamishs', stroked his length languidly. He made a little sound in the back of his throat, threw one arm behind his head, spread his thighs. 

"Hmmm...." Hamish smiled. "I like your technique." 

Sherlock increased his pace slightly, turning his head and looking at Hamish coyly, from under his lush black lashes. Hamish liked that. A lot. He bit his bottom lip and began to stroke himself. 

Sherlocks jaw clenched. Having that hunk of a man watch him was too exciting. He tried to slow down but his hand had a life of its own. And Hamish, all self control, kept the same slow pace he had started at.

Sherlocks throat made sounds, little coos and growls of encouragement to himself. His cock bounced freely under his wrist and his eyes shut. He moved his hand from under his head to cup his own balls. He heard Hamishs' breath hitch and this made Sherlocks fist tighten around his silky cock.

"God Sherlock you are so pretty like this, fucking yourself, letting me watch..." Hamish rumbled. Now Sherlock was arching himself up with every thrust, squeezing his balls, his hips thrusting mere millimetres but even that felt like too much friction.

"Hamish, please..."

"Mm, Sherlock?"

"Please..may I come?"

"Oh that's lovely Sherlock, begging. Ask me again. Nicely."

"Hamish please..let me come. Please."

"Tell me what it feels like, the heat building, your cock, your balls...let me know." Hamish demanded. Poor Sherlock tried to find words. It took a second or two because he could not stop interfering with himself.

"It's a terrible pain, like a coiling snake...waiting in my..in my balls..my cock feels like it is on fire..but wet. My own hand is making me crazy with want...Hamish...please...please..."

"So pretty Sherlock..." Hamish purred. Then he lent forward, snatched Sherlocks hand away and replaced it with the velvet heat of his mouth, all suction and swirling tongue. 

Sherlock yelped, thrust deeply into Hamishs hot mouth, once, twice, and then he was coming, keening, holding onto the headboard, his stomach rippling as he emptied his dewey come deep down Hamishs' throat. 

Hamishs' orgasm crashed over him one second later. He tried to say Sherlocks name but his mouth was full and his throat was coated with Sherlocks delicious syrupy come. He made do with simple groans of pleasure as the fire in his loins damped down. 

He fell off Sherlock and sighed happily.

"Thank you Sherlock. That was adorable."

Sherlock smiled and laughed quietly.

"Adorable. Of course...."

"Sherlock, we all love you."

"You will all be the death of me."

"Mmmm, lovely way to go."

"Berks...."

#


	16. MIACH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miach. Be afraid. The guy is a creepy creep...

MEET

CHAPTER 16: MIACH

Miach keened in pain, glass after glass of scotch thrown down his neck. His little authentic gypsy caravan in the woods held all his secrets but now, right now, it could barely hold his grief.

Lallys triple betrayal: her daughter, the new meat, and pretty skinned boy, all let go at her hand. He had planned to torture her, make her his new display, but she had died....all of them had died when the missiles destroyed his cave.

His whole family, gone. Only his parasitic twin brother left.

If only he had not gone chasing the goat, of only he was not obsessed with Doctor Watson and all his possible personalities, if only he had died with them all, if only he were not a Bean, a Maker.

Miach screamed again in grief, more alcohol, more tears. He wanted to smash stuff but his caravan was filled with too many good things. His experiments, his trials, his failures and his triumphs...

All he could do was drink. Drink drink drink...

Tomorrow he could start turning John Watson into his newest star. He looked like a screamer. Miach bet he was a screamer...

But tonight was for keening, lamenting and grief.

And drink.

#


	17. I HATE IT WHEN MUMMY AND DADDY FIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John argue. It is not pretty.

MEET

CHAPTER 17: I HATE IT WHEN MUMMY AND DADDY FIGHT.

Sherlock and John were strolling to the local library. It was a tiny house in the main street but filled with local history and archives of the area. Sherlock wanted to look up the history of the caves. As he suspected though, John wanted to go see for himself that the cannibals were all gone.

"John, no, I cannot let you." Sherlock announced as they walked.

"You cannot LET me?"

"No."

John stopped walking. Sherlock kept going, until he realised John was not with him. He turned back to see Watson standing, staring at him. Oh, this was a thing, a moment, a...he thought for a minute....

John was upset.

"Sherlock, if I want to go see for myself where Gillespie.." he faltered, crossed his arms, hugged himself. "If I want to go see where Gillespie died I will. Not even The Great Sherlock Holmes could stop me."

"Don't be silly John, of course I could."

Johns gave went pale and his lips tired white. He was furious.

"Sherlock-" he choked. He had goose flesh he was so angry! "If you..I swear..." He began to shake, and his hands clamped into fists.

"John it is not safe. It has not been cleared by Mycrofts people, not to mention MI6. What if some survived? To go there would be a fools errand."

"You have called me a fool more than once Sherlock." John spat, and turned on his heel. He began walking back the way they had come, intending to cross the street and make his way by foot to the caves, and fuck YOU Sherlock Holmes.

"John...JOHN!"

John kept walking. He put his fists in his pockets, hunched his shoulders and pretending the world around him had no Insulting Detectives in it. He heard the long strides of Sherlock behind him and he stopped. 

Without turning around he said:

"Touch me Sherlock and I will punch you in the neck."

There was silence but oh how John could hear that gigantic brain working. When he was sure Sherlock got the point John moved off again.

"John-"

John could hear the hurt in Sherlocks voice but it didn't even come near to the hurt John was feeling. It was not a huge thing. He wanted..he needed...

It shouldn't matter why, Sherlock should just understand!

"John, please..."

No, not manners again! But John stopped, and he felt Sherlock behind him.

"Please, don't go."

"If you had just treated me civilly in the first place we would not be here now. In the beginning when I was nothing more than a phone retriever and txt sender then maybe you had the right but now...when I assume I mean more than that to you, you cannot treat me like this."

"John, I credit you with more intelligence than to go down this...stupidly emotional path! You cannot go back to the caves and that is final!"

John whirled and grabbed Sherlock by his stupid Belstaffs lapels, rammed him into the stone wall of a nearby shop. Sherlock put his arms out to his sides. He would not attack John. 

Johns eyes bored into Sherlocks and yeah..he was furious. And hurt. And scared. And grieving. 

"It's not about the damn caves. It is not even about you having so little respect for me you would...patronise me! This is about having my army buddy killed and eaten. Sherlock...killed and EATEN!" he shoved Sherlock hard onto the wall again and then let him go to walk away.

For a split second Sherlock wished he had a weapon, any sort, knife, spear, blow dart, if it would stop John from leaving. But he had nothing. Not even, he noted, his greatest weapon, his deductive mind. He literally could not put himself in Johns place. He had no frame of reference. Killed and EATEN for the love of Christ!

But John was leaving, he was walking away, and Sherlock could not let him. John turned a corner and disappeared from view. Sherlock took off running, but when he rounded the corner John was gone. He was nowhere. The sneaky bastard had taken off, maybe doubled back...Sherlock looked up. Most people forgot to look up. John was not up.

"Think think think..." Sherlock fisted his hair. "Alley!"

He raced down the closest alley only to find it too opened out on another road. If this was the way John had come there was no way to tell if he had gone left or right.

Sherlock got out his phone.

JOHN, DON'T BE OBTUSE.-SH

FUCK YOU-JW

Sherlock moaned. Fighting with John had been fun when he was just John. But now he was John, his lover, his friend, his college, his everything, this was just...

It was just awful. 

PLEASE JOHN. COME BACK TO ME. WE CAN TALK. I WON'T CALL YOU OBTUSE.-SH

Nothing came back. Sherlock walked as he txt, scanning for traces of John.

JOHN I COULD BEG YOU BUT IT DEMEANS US BOTH-SH

NO SHERLOCK, JUST YOU. BACK OFF-JW

Sherlock felt as if a mule had kicked him, right in the heart.

JOHN, WHERE ARE YOU? PLEASE DON'T DO THIS!-SH

Nothing.

"John John John, where are you..." Sherlock spun in a circle he had no idea, he could not think, oh his chest hurt, so THIS was panic! 

OKAY JOHN. LET ME COME WITH YOU-SH

Nothing.

PLEASE JOHN? TOGETHER?-SH

Sherlock moved. He thought he heard Johns txt message beep down along a back alley.

JOHN ANSWER ME, YOU'RE SCARING ME AND IT DOES NOT FEEL GOOD-SH

Yes, the bzzzt of Johns phone. Sherlock traced it to a rose bush. The gadget was half buried in dirt. It had been dropped. And nearby was a few droplets of blood. Sherlocks heart leaped into his mouth.

Someone had John....SOMEONE HAD JOHN!

Making a choking sound Sherlock txt Mycroft and then took off running for the caves....

#


	18. WHIP 'EM OUT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silly Miach tries to control Johns Alters.

MEET

CHAPTER 18: WHIP 'EM OUT

Johns awareness came to him slowly, like crawling up through grey cotton. He mentally checked himself. He remembered a bop to the head, cloth over his mouth and a smell in his nose.

And the fight, the stupid stubborn fight with Sherlock.

John cracked his eyes open and was I sure of what he was seeing. It was daylight still and the walls were green, and kind of arched. Small room. Fancy woodwork. Oh! Gypsy caravan, how adorable.

In his mouth was a rag of some sort. Burlap? Ew, that was just nasty. 

His wrists were secured with rough hemp rope to the arms of a chair. His chest was bare but he still had on his jeans. No shoes or socks, hemp was cutting into his ankles too. They were tied real tight to the legs of the chair.

He made a sound like "Hello?" but it came out weird through the burlap. Man, he could use a drink. And his head ached. 

Someone moved behind him. John tried to turn his head but ...oh fuck ME that hurt! 

"John, you with me?"

He knew that voice. So the freak was freaky after all. He grunted "Miach" but it didn't really sound like the Circus Owners name.

Miach walked around him and loomed. He smiled. In his hand was a shiny implement of some sort. Oh, scalpel, he recognised it. Had handled enough of hem to know what it was.

And also. What it was capable of. 

John stared up into Miachs beautiful face. Why were the pretty ones always so fucked in the head?

"I LOVE that scar just there." Miach said, pointing with the scalpel to Johns abdomen. "I bet all sorts of stuff slithered out of there before you were put back together." 

John said nothing, just stared up into Miachs' lovely quite mad eyes.

"How much did you have to do with the total destruction of my family....doctor? Any? A bit? Was it all up to you? Because they all died. Every last one." 

Miach pulled the burlap from Johns mouth. John tried to moisten his tongue to talk but there was nothing. Miach slapped John quite hard, causing Johns head to snap to the side.

"OW! Fuck!" John gasped dryly. He felt blood from his cut mouth seep onto his tongue.

"Just trying to loosen your tongue. Blood, water, scotch, it's all liquid right."

"Prick."

"The mouth on you." Miach gripped Johns chin. "The pretty dirty mouth on you."

"You going to make me take your cock in my purdy mouth you fuck? Because really, the homoerotic undertones are singing in this room." John rasped. Miach sneered. Then he bent down to lick the blood drop from the split in Johns lip.

"Gay love makes me sick." Miach announced. 

"Well done on covering your inner shirt-lifter mate." 

Miach stepped back from John. He loomed. John was not sure he liked the looming.

"So, John, the caves." he said, back to the subject at hand. "Missiles? You would have to have some serious clout to make that happen."

"I am just a small town boy." John said. 

"So this had nothing to do with you?"

"Not in the least. If I had my way I would have used Nukes."

"What about the others?"

"Others?"

"The others. Inside you. Your other personalities."

"Are you asking if my Alters had enough pull to order a missile strike on your revolting caves, really?"

Miach backhanded John then John yelped and his lips split further. The inside of his cheek also broke. He tasted the iron tang of his own blood.

"Don't test me Doctor." Miach hissed. "I have a feeling anger or great pain my bring forth any number of your personalities.

"Or you could ask nicely."

"You do not strike me as a stupid person John. Asking you nicely would not work. No, the actual mini Freak Show that is your life created the Alters in the first place. I have done some research. Childhood abuse, war time abuse, any number of horrors can make a phyche split. So tell me something doctor. When you saw that girl, killed and parts of her chopped off to feed my family..anyone new come knocking around in that shattered head of yours?"

Johns eyes had got flintier and slitier as Miach kept talking. He was literally too angry to speak. 

"Oh...could *I* bring one out?" Miach asked then. "Like Bruce Banner..would I like you when you are angry John?"

"The girl your family killed and ate...."

"We killed and ate many girls John. We have been around for four hundred years. Did you mean any girl specifically?"

"Her name was Gillespie." John said. There was a pause. Some silence.

"What...that's it?" 

John remained silent. 

"Oh, you think if we know the names of our food it would be harder for us to eat, like naming a pig Sunshine? Sorry John." Miach shrugged. "So, you have controlled your Hulk. Anger won't bring out any of your Alters. So, pain then.."

Miach took the shiny scalpel and pressed it to one of Johns bound wrists. Then he paused.

"Oh, you have scars here. Is there a story to them then John?"

"Teeth marks. I taste great." John growled.

"Oh you brave little soldier, taunting a cannibal with your own flesh?"

John tipped his head back to show the scar lines on his throat from Father Edens knife. "Outer scars are nothing you pillock. Merely tell a story." He dropped his head again.

"I admit, I do like your outer scars, but it's your inner scars I am interested in. Freak." and Miach winked at him before dragging the scalpel slowly down Johns inner arm. John clenched his jaw and breathed through his nose. Unlike control of his anger, pain was always too hard, to hard to resist...he felt himself slipping.

"Good, John, show me someone. Someone interesting."

Johns eyes rolled back and suddenly Miach was seeing someone much different. 

"Wow...wow, that's amazing..I think your eyes even changed colour..."

"Keep it up you fuck and you will see your own fucking intestines."

"Oh, your voice.." Miach actually smiled, scalpel forgotten. "Oh wait, do you have a name?"

"You want to know who killed your family? It was me."

"You? I hardly think-"

"All of me you cock licker. All my personalities. We are all so fucking deeply loved and cared for that when I hurt great men forget themselves and order highly underhanded and unethical missile strikes."

"Well...that I was not expecting..."

"Yeah, cos your type of freaks are not loved, you are shunned, you have no idea what it is to be cared for and protected do you?" the Alter leaned forward, eyes shining. "And you are so...fucking...JEALOUS!"

Miach forgot himself and tore back into The Alters flesh. Deeply. The scream was so tasty Miach managed to forget how close to the truth the Alter had got.

"Let me see them all!" he demanded, crossing to the Alters other arm and cutting another long line. The Alters head flung back and he howled. "Let me see who's in there-"

TheAlters throat was working, and it took a minute for Miach to realise his prisoner was laughing. LAUGHING!

"Oh you sad sad little man." The Alter croaked. "I am still just one body, you can still only get one meal out of me."

Miach hissed, grabbing the Alters hair and exposing the scarred throat. He pressed the scalpel into the tender flesh there and yeah, the laughing stopped and the choking started but this was unsatisfactory.

When the shot came was almost silent but the glass smashing that accompanied it was not.

Miachs' head whipped back, the light died in his eyes, and he slipped to the ground.

The door was kicked in by a flying Belstaff.

"My gun, Sherlock!

"Get fucked Mycroft!

"Oh lovely."

"John, are you okay? Sherlock demanded, hiding the Sig in his pocket and caressing Johns cheek softly, trying to ignore the slashes in Johns precious body.

"Fury." Fury gasped through the pain.

"Oh thank fuck Fury thank you thank you." Sherlock whispered, stroking Furys hair. 

"John is busy gibbering right now."

"It's okay it's okay, you were here, where are you hurt?"

"Arms that's all, just my arms Sherlock."

Sherlock used Miachs' scalpel to cut Fury free and half carried,half dragged the Alter out into the sunlight to sit on the grass. Fury nodded to Sherlocks brother, who was directing several black clad SWAT troops. 

"Mycroft...how did you find us?"

"I may have happened, at one time or another, to have slipped a tiny locator into Johns wallet."

"Wow, you ARE good. How does it feel to have stopped the last of Sawney Beans clan?"  
Fury asked, staring with...well frankly, huge admiration for the man who occupied a minor position in the British Government.

"Fury, I assume." Mycroft raised and eyebrow. Fury modded and hissed as Sherlock used his scarf to press on the deepest cut TheBody had sustained. "Well Fury for the second time this week I feel extraordinarily pretty damn good."

The SWAT team were all yelling "clear clear clear" and Mycroft turned to go. Fury stopped him with a foot in his way.

"Thank you Mycroft." he said. Mycroft paused. Then he nodded, and went to meet with the SWAT commander.

"Fury could you please inform John he is an arse and if he ever does anything like this again he will have more than a shiny scalpel of death wielded by a deformed cannibal to deal with? Thanks everso..."

Fury chuckled and hissed again. "Ow, fuck me Sherlock, take it easy! *I* didn't fight with you."

"I was on my way to The Cave you know. I figured that was where Miach would take you, and you really wanted to go!"

"John wanted to go."

"Could you have stopped him?"

"I am not sure Sherlock but yeah, I think I would have, just to stop him seeing what could have been there."

"Thank you. And again, thank you for coming out in there..." Sherlock nodded his head back to the caravan. "I am so fucking grateful you were created." 

Fury found himself in the unique position of having his lips kissed by Sherlock Holmes. It was lovely. No wonder John...and Hamish..and Flirt....and fucking BOND..seemed to like it so much.

"Now Fury, you are being medivaced out in a shiny helicopter." Sherlock said. "I will be checking us out of the Inn and driving the rental home. Abba free, I will have you know."

Fury chuckled and then his eyes rolled.

"I...GET TO RIDE...IN A HEELYCOPTER...WITH SWAT!!!" Came Robins little voice and Sherlock barked out a laugh.

"And I am so envious Robin. Don't press any buttons." Sherlock lent down to wink and whisper...

"....unless they are Uncle Mycrofts..."

#


	19. BLIRT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Bond resist Flirt?

MEET

CHAPTER 19: BLIRT

John lazed. He actually lazed. Sure, the room was sterile and white and deep within MI6, but John had had some great drugs and.....HELLO, MI6!!!

He had ended up with 12 stitches in the deep slash Miach had inflicted when he was angry. The arm was bandaged but needed no sling. 

And the pain meds were AWESOME...had he mentioned that?

It was better than being drunk. Not having to spend money and get hit by skany women and skankier men. Okay, John laughed then because one time it was both and he had had to sneak out of a bathroom window but hey, that was med school...

His door opened and through his drug-halo he saw an Angel of the Lord walking towards him. 

"Doctor Watson, I was told you were in here." 

Ohhhh bless you Mother Mary, it was James fucking Bond.

"Hey James!" John said, not trusting his legs to get him from the comfy comfy chair he was lazing in because...hello, AWESOME drugs! But Bond didn't seem to mind, just sat in the chair next to him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Awesome."

"You got the top shelf drugs then."

"If I had a towel I would tie it like a cape and fly off a roof like superman." John said, and Bond chuckled. 

"Yes, you got the good stuff."

"And you, Bond, how are you?"

"On the mend. I understand I have you to thank for that." Bond said, hooking Johns eyes with those mmmm oh fuck me gorrrrrgeous ice blue orbs.

"I went fully into doctor mode James but you scared me half to death. You seized so hard I thought you were going to swallow your tongue."

"Q would kill me if I died."

"Q is a Que-Tee....hear what I did then?" John laughed at his awesome joke.

Bond reached out his good hand and touched the doctors shoulder.

"Are you sure you are okay John?" 

Johns body kind of thrummed, shook, and then he was looking coyly sideways and the agent.

"I feel wonderful Bond." 

"Well, I am glad." James said. "You do good work. Especially on my shoulder and head wound."

"Oh your head looked nasty. Real nasty. But even worse..." John licked his lips a little.

"uh...oh, um...what was worse?" Bond stammered, actually stammered. Why was he stammering?

John leaned in to whisper in Bonds ear: "Your hair was all messy."

"..uh..."

"Like Sex hair." John added for good measure. Then he giggled. That's when James understood. This was not John. 

"To whom am I speaking?" Bond asked them.

"Flirt, silly, LOOK at these lashes!" Flirt giggled again, pointing to his batting eyelids. 

"Pleased to meet you Flirt. I better let you rest, your arm looks-"

Flirt darted forward and kissed Bond, right on those perfect lips. Bond stilled. No denying those were the same lips he had kissed in Wales, but this was NOT John Watson. The silky tongue pushing its way inside his mouth was a bit of a giveaway. Okay, and fluttering closed eyes. And yeah, the moan. That was all very much not John Watson.

"Flirt, please-" Bond murmured. He liked this, he liked John, but he loved Q and admired Sherlock greatly. Hmm, but Bond was a sexual creature. He worked hard and he played hard too. Also, he had questionable ethics. What one man found acceptable another may not. 

So yeah, he kissed Flirt, and kissed him deeply. Closed his eyes and used his magnificent tongue. Lent in a little too and Flirt, being flirt, moaned and curved himself up into Bond. 

"Okay, stop now." Bond said in a low voice, standing up and moving away. 

"James..."

Mmm, well, that was a nice tone of voice. But...no, he should walk away. He should, shouldn't he? But he turned instead.

Raised one perfect eyebrow.

Flirt essentially was NOT John. John would not need to know....would Flirt tell? And what about his lovely Quartermaster? Oh this way lay madness but LOOK AT THE MAN! John was hard to resist at he best of times, but with his Flirt on...shit. Coy eyes, asking-for-it lips, flushed face. 

Dizzy with drugs...

"....kiss me..."

Begging for it...

Yikes.

So help me God, it's just a kiss...yes? Just one little....okay TWO little...kisses. Thank you kisses. For saving him.

Bond strode forward determinedly and took hold of Flirt....

#


	20. WAKE ME UP BEFORE YOU GO GO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dudleys new home, Gillespies funeral, the wake and...oops!

MEET

CHAPTER 20:WAKE ME UP BEFORE YOU GO GO.

 

 

 

[there is supposed to be a picture of Dudley here but my iPad won't transfer it because it is a fascist.]

 

 

 

"Mrs Hudson, here he is." John said, handing over the cat carrier to the lovely lady downstairs who was NOT their housekeeper.

Dudley meowed and stuck his paw through the cage bars.

"Oh you are just a precious dumpling yes you are!..." Mrs Hudson continued to coo and John knew the lovely cat had found the perfect home.

#

Gillespies funeral was more fun than Sherlock expedited it to be. Well, how fun is a funeral supposed to be? Nevertheless this one WAS.

The funeral home was filled to the brim with army and ex-army, cat lovers, family and even Mycroft, Lestrade, Q and Bond, arm still in a sling.

The eulogies were touching and just a little bit fun, much like Sherlock remembered the lady herself. 

The cat protection society told many stories of the lengths Gillespie went to to rescue kittens. One involved a sewerage drain and uncooked spaghetti and Sherlock thought John was going to burst with amusement.

Her family recalled a mostly sweet child with a perpencity to stick up for smaller kids and rescue lizards from spiderwebs. Her brother told them all about the time he tried to convince her water was melted snot and the resultant gravel he had found in his bed that very night.

Every single army buddy mentioned a certain nuddy run and her excellent French Toast, and balls the size of grapefruit.

But when John got up everyone was silent. Johns friends knew what she had done for him, Johns army buddies knew, and even the family and cat ladies knew. 

John was not afraid of public speaking but this audience was confronting and intense.

John shuffled papers on the lectern, coughed a little and looked up.

"The first time I laid eyes on Gillespie she was dressed as a nun and welcoming me to Kandahar, and to have a nice day."

The army buddies laughed. Most of them nodded. 

"I learned soon afterwards that she was not only a very spiritual person.." he paused for some snickers.."But a hell of a human being. You've heard the stories and all of them are true. Now I will tell you mine."

John shifted. "Halfway through my second tour our situation got to our Major. He had seen a lot of action, seen a lot of stuff, and one night...he cracked. He attacked my bunk mate and me. My bunk mate did not make it and I was as good as dead. The calmness of Gillespie from the second she got to me was a godsend. I don't remember much of that might but when I do think back on it, the terror I COULD recall is always smoothed by the memory of Gillespies face, her words and her professionalism. And now she's gone I can tell you, she was a heck of a seamstress."

More snickering as John laid his hand over his abdominal scar. 

"Gillespie gave so much to country and for her to end up being killed by something worse than insurgents seems unfair, but the legacy she left behind...and I don't just mean me but hey, I am grateful every damn day she was the one who waltzed into the worst day of my life and made it less traumatic. But the legacy of her bravery, her joy, and her love is what we should take away from this terrible event."

John turned to Gillespies white coffin.

“Respice post te. Hominem te esse memento. Memento mori,” He whispered. "Look behind you. Remember that you are but a heck of a woman. Remember that you will die."

He swallowed.

"And thank you for saving me."

"Amen." Sherlock whispered to himself.

#

The wake was held in a local bar. Most of the army buddies made it, but Lestrade and Mycroft, the cat ladies and most of the family did not come. They had their own wakes arranged. Bond and Q had said they would try to get there but Q was insisting Bond go back to their hotel and sleep.

After many many beers most of the people, including John, were well into their cups. A drunken Captain made a loud announcement.

"I reckon it is time to play her favourite song...and all you bitches need to get up and dance!"

Most of the room groaned in good hearted pretend displeasure. They knew what this meant...and then the music started...

"AAAAAGAAAAAAA......DO DO DO, PUSH PINEAPPLE SHAKE THE TREE..."

"Nooooo!!!" John moaned but leaped up and joined in the dance. Sherlock had never seen anything like it before. He was familiar with the song. It was a bad song. To say it was Gillespies favourite song was perhaps sarcasm? Yes....sarcasm. He really wished he had got to know Gillespie just a bit better. 

But he was really really glad he never learned the dance to Agadoo.

#

John needed air, he needed space, he possibly needed to vomit. He staggered outside to the cool night air of the alley. 

He managed not to be sick by sheer force of will, then lent back against the nearest wall, next to the storage room, put his head back and closed his eyes. His stitches were pulling a little, and stinging to remind him he was alive. 

For a split second he prayed fervently for the power of life over death, for Gillespie to be resurrected, no matter how ridiculous that sounded. He knew it was stupid, just as whining about how unfair everything was was stupid.

"John." came a voice from the mouth of the alley. Johns beer-glued eyes swivelled and took in the slim form of Quintin Holme as it stalked towards him.

"Hey Q, glad you could make it."

Q took John suddenly the back of the neck, kicked in the door to the storage room in the wall next to him, and shoved the doctor into the dank little space.

"Wha-"

Q kick the door closed, turned on a dim light and slammed his hand onto Johns shoulder, forcing him to sit on a rickety chair. 

"Sit here John." Q said, his tone all miss manners. He pulled a notebook computer out of his jacket, opened it and slammed it on the table in front of John.

"Q, what are you-"

"I have something I want you to see, John." Q said. Somehow his calm voice was quite frightening. "I got this off the surveillance camera in the MI6 hospital. I think you will find it quite...entertaining."

"From Inside MI6?"

"I am a Quartermaster, John, and a brilliant one at that." Q pressed play. "I think you will recognise the stars of this particular movie."

And there,on the tiny screen, was James Bond and himself, kissing hotly on one of the couches. 

"Oh." was all John could say. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think I was myself...."

"John, it makes no difference to my anger and disappointment. You fucked my boyfriend."

"I most certainly did not!" John protested. And then a tinny voice from the screen said:

"Fuck me James...please, I want you..."

And it sure sounded like John Watsons voice.

#


	21. Q THE CONFUSION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has issues. Hamish helps clear them up.

MEET

CHAPTER 21: Q THE CONFUSION 

John gently banged his forehead on the table.

"Q, I was heavily drugged, I had just been slashed by a cannibal, and missed most of an awesome helicopter ride because my ten year old Alter had a tantrum when Hamish tried to make him pull back. I am so so sorry!"

"Sorry? SORRY?" Q demanded, not hearing Johns piss poor excuses. "Look at you two!"

"I would very much rather not."

"I am used to people staring at him John, he is a stunning STUNNING man, and sometimes he has to slut himself for a case, but you are our FRIEND John, and family. And this was most definitely not a case."

"He was thanking me for saving his life at the Inn, when he thought he lost you. Q, after that, I have no recall..."

"Don't DO that! Don't LIE to me!" Q hissed, his voice dangerously low pitched. John took his head up off the table to stare up at Q.

"I promise, I am not lying. It was not me molesting your boyfriend. It was Flirt."

"Who just happened to magically pop out in time to kiss James?"

John moaned. He knew how it sounded.

"I...I...yes." John slumped to the table again. "Please, turn it off. Please."

"But wait, this is the good bit."

"Quartermaster, PLEASE!"

From the notebook came a sigh and then...a giggle. John groaned again. Fucking Flirt!

Q actually paused then, but kept the video running.

"Giggling, John? What were you trying to do, be the girl?"

"Q, it is NOT ME!"

Q moved like lightning, heaving John up out of the chair, which crashed back to the ground, fisting the lapels of Johns jacket and slamming him into the wall. A rack of brooms nearby shook.

"It sure...the fuck...looks like you!"

"Q..." John whispered and then shuddered under Q's hands. His eyes rolled back and when they opened again...Q was astonished. It was as if a totally different human was staring at him.

"Quintin, I am so very sorry. I have little control over Flirt in certain situations."

"The fuck...?"

"My name is Hamish. I control The Alters. But I find it hard to control Flirt if he is drunk, or drugged, or near James Bond. I am sorry, I really am."

"Hamish..?"

Yes. Could you...?" Hamish gestures to the hands in his jacket. Q let him go as if he were battery acid.

"Will you conveniently forget this too?" he spat.

"No, I will remember. John will not."

"YOU are John!"

"No, I am Hamish. All TheBodys Alters are completely separate personalities. So when John tells you he cannot remember doing that..." Hamish waved to the notebook which now showed James and Flirt horizontal on the couch, "He truly cannot remember."

Q was staring at Hamish. 

He was taller than John, how could that be? Must be his posture. His whole definition was slightly different to John. Even the way he carried his arms, one crossed over his front, the other up at his mouth, tapping his lips in a uniquely Hamish way, a telltale sign that Hamish was in TheBody.

"Have you confronted James?" Hamish asked then, gently.

"No...I thought...John was....and James is..." It was Q's turn to slump. "I am really sorry. But I love him."

"You know he is mad for you too." Hamish said. "In bed the other night, post coitally, Sherlock told me he had never seen Bond so smitten and puppy-eyed over a mere dalliancé."

"Wait...you and Sherlock..have sex?"

"Uh huh."

"How many Alters are there?"

"Six."

"Does he boink you all?"

"Robin is ten." Hamish slit his eyes.

"Erh...so...you are all different ages?"

"Quintin, for a smart guy who did all this quote unquote research, you seem to be quite unknowledgeable."

Q stiffened.

"Oh I did not call you stupid, settle your feathers Holmes, but...all you really needed to do was ask us. We will gladly answer any questions you have."

On the video there was now shuffling.

"OI, James, get off!"

Q snapped his eyes to the video.

"Oh for fucks sake Q, did you not watch the whole thing through?" Hamish sighed.

Q shook his head.

James was rolling off Flirt and rubbing his forehead.

"I'm sorry Flirt, I-"

"Ohhhhhh nooooooo... " came Johns voice from the computer. "Not Flirt!"

"THAT'S John, Quintin. See, way different. John would never fuck you over. And so, it seems, neither would Flirt."

Quintin tore his eyes from the video.

"I owe you an apology."

"Not me, John."

Quintin puffed out a frustrated breath.

Just as the door to the storage room was kicked open again and Sherlock burst in.

"Fuck me, do you Holmes ever use a door handle?"

Sherlock eyes took in everything, darting from Q to the notebook to the chair knocked over to the rumpled state of Johns clothing.

"Quintin, allow us to escort you back to your hotel." he announced.

"I am quite capable of-"

"I think it is time all four of us had a little chat."

From the video came the sound of a slamming door and a long drawn out shaky sigh from the image that was John Watson.

#


	22. ALTER SKELTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask and he shall receive.
> 
> John and Sherlock have a little chat with Bond and Q.

MEET

CHAPTER 22: ALTER SKELTER

The hotel room Bond and Q had was luxurious. Of course. All gold streaked marble and purple and gold striped furniture.

Bond, still in the suit he wore to the funeral but with the tie gone and top buttons undone, was nursing a scotch in his good arm. He was fairly calm. Q had the notebook computer and was showing James the footage.

James shifted, a bit uncomfortably. 

When it finished, Bond looked up at Q.

"I am so sorry." he said quietly.

"Do you have an explanation? Excuse? Anything?" Q asked, snapping the computer shut and sitting on a chair next to James.

James looked over at John and Sherlock, sitting awkwardly together on the couch. Sherlock made a point of slowly gripping Johns hand and John allowed it.

James looked up at Q again.

"I have no excuse. I went in to thank John, and to see how he was doing." he said. "And John...he...he...Erm...."

"I hero worship you." John said quietly. He didn't want to make it easy for James, he had some culpability in what went on, but deep in his soul John knew that what had gone on should not be allowed to tear Q and Bond apart.

"Everyone Hero Worships you." Sherlock said. "I would take a run at you myself if we were free."

"Sherlock, not helping." John hissed.

"John, you are a very tactile person." Bond said, then put up his hand to quell any protests. "Not that I am excusing my behaviour. But...when Flirt comes out, he is so responsive. He is...pliant, and willing, and sexy as hell."

"He's a man whore." John offered. Everyone nodded. A lot."Gee, thanks."

"And when you are being Flirt, do you know what is going on John?"

"You think we chat amongst ourselves like we are....at a tea party Q?" John asked. "Seriously, that would negate why my Alters were created. Every single one is there to do the stuff I cannot cope with directly."

"Why did Flirt come out to James then?" Q asked.

"I was well and truly drugged." John said. "My resistance was low, and...look at him!" John waved at Bond, looking fuckable even messed up and damaged. "I am sorry Flirt snogged him, I am, but that is what Flirt does."

"And you really don't know?"

"Not until I am back being me and someone tells me, or there is footage..."

"It was hard to believe sometimes." Sherlock explained. "I would interact with an Alter but he has Johns face. It was difficult to understand they were totally different."

"It must be fun to have that many boyfriends." Q snorted. "And you still don't keep him interested enough not to go for mine."

"Low blow Quintin." Sherlock said.

"I am really sorry." John said again.

"Stop it John. Stop apologising. If this thick git doesn't get it then he just doesn't get it."

"Sherlock-"

"You do understand John does not do this for fun don't you?" Sherlock snapped. "His personalities didn't wander in one day and sit down to stay. They were created from trauma, you sanctimonious prick. Take whatever you can imagine was so terrible a mind would shatter, and times it by twenty."

"Sherlock, they don't need to know-" John protested.

"No, John, it pisses me off. They think this is a game you are playing."

"I don't-" Q tried to say, but Sherlock hissed.

"Don't give me that, Quintin! That is exactly what you think!"

"I KNOW what causes Johns condition, Sherlock."

"Oh you do, do you? And yet you still pursue this line of stupidity!"

"It is merely lack of experience Sherlock, not ignorance!"

"It should be enough that I say it is so, with John, and for you to agree!"

"You arrogant-"

The slang match became heated and in French. The two Holmes' stood up fringe to fringe yelling into each others faces. 

John looked quite disturbed but Bond was fascinated. He had seen this before with Q and Mycroft. This was how Holmes men showed they cared, although sometimes it was in German or Italian.

Bond was equally fascinated when John stood and shoved himself between the taller men. He pushed Q to his chair and shoved Sherlock back into his.

"Both of you posh fucks shut the fuck up!"

"Jesus Christ John!" Q yelled.

"Fury." Sherlock offered.

"The fuck....?" Q was confused.

"Fury, yes, you pair of fucking hissing Tom Cats. Pull your fucking heads in."

"Shit, you're a scary one." Q said.

"You better believe it princess. I am the Alter you do NOT want to meet. And yet...here I am." Fury strolled over and loomed above Quintin. Q stiffened and Bond tensed but Fury kept his hands visible. "You wanted to meet me though, didn't you muffin? Well...here I am."

"Erm...." Q said.

"Let me help you Quintin." Sherlock offered. "Eyes darker, looks taller and wider, menacing and angry. You ever seen John look like that?"

"No..."

"He is impressive." Bond said.

"I suppose you wanna fuck him too James?" Q spat.

"Oh hey, leave it out ya pair of fudge packers, I am NOT gay!" Fury spat.

"interesting..." Sherlock said, tenting his fingers and quirking his eyebrow.

"If I clap my hands and demand another one like an excited child for ice-cream, would one appear?" Bond asked then, acerbically.

"You listen me you stupid bastard, you may be the most handsome, strongest, bravest man in the whole fucking world but you WILL show TheBody some respect. You got that, blue-eyes?"

Bond stared at Fury with curiosity. It had been years since someone had talked to him like that unless he was some sort of covert spy. It was quite exciting. Ooops, he quelled that line of thinking, that's what got him into trouble in the first place.

So he nodded. But his eyes twinkled.

"Fury, stand down. It's okay." Sherlock said. Fury eyeballed Bond a bit longer and then crossed to sit back down next to Sherlock again. Sherlock massaged his shoulder a bit and Furys eyes rolled. He slumped a little and then his eyes opened. He saw Sherlock staring at him, then took in the stares of Q and Bond.

"Oh fucking....who was here?" he asked.

"Fury."

"Everyone okay?"

"You really don't recall?" Q asked.

"Did he threaten you with water boarding?"

"No. Does he usually?" Bond asked.

"For you, James, I assumed he would have offered." John nodded.

"Charming." Q sniffed. "So you don't have sex with Fury then."

"What?" John asked, looking at Sherlock with confusion. "Did he ask Fury that?"

"No, Fury offered that information for free."

"He informed us he, and I quote, 'ain't no fudge packer'." Bond offered.

"Lovely" John said. 

"Did you say one of your Alters was a child?" Q asked then. Bond looked instantly interested. Anything pertaining to children put his hackles up instantly. He had been known to torch known pedophile dens and mangle predators. 

Accidentally. 

His hand slipped...

"Yes, Robin." John said. "He is the manifestation of my twin brother, Jack, who was killed by my father when we were ten."

Bond growled, and finished the scotch. He already knew James Watson was dead. Wasn't James Watson a lucky man...he never had Bond to answer to.

"Killed...by your father?" Q said then.

"Yes. He was our first abuser." 

"Your first?"

"You get it now, Quintin?" Sherlock asked softly. "The Alters are there to keep John sane. To protect him. I am sorry Flirt hurt your pride, but there is always a reason, even if it is a small one like 'He was drunk"..

"How were the others made? Please John...would you tell me?" Quintin asked then, nicely.

John swallowed. He tried to remember all he had learned about his Alters from his sessions with Dr Sean.

"I created Hamish first." John said."I must have been five. He was a taller stronger me. He did the talking sometimes. Later, he helped create new Alters. He and Sherlock fuck, in case you were curious." John smiled and yes! Q blushed. Bond chuckled.

"He is a gorgeous lay. Very kind, gentle, bit dirty." Sherlock offered.

"Sherlock!" both Q and John protested.

"Hamish can talk to all the Alters and give them messages from me. There's a deeper Alter called SleepingJohn, he protects me when I sleep, has a knife under the pillow. He was created in Afghanistan. You heard the story at the funeral. It's why I don't remember much."

"Don't John...Quintin, there is much more to the story John told today. John, please, don't tell that bit." Sherlock took Johns hand. John squeezed.

"Okay." John said, a bit relieved.

"You still have the knife under your pillow?" Q asked.

"No. SleepingJohn does." John explained.

"Does that scare you Sherlock?"

"No."

"TheFuryandTheFear was made the day I...took care of Da." John said then. Bond was grinning.

"I am so jealous." he said, and only realised he said that out loud when they all looked at him. "What? I am."

"James Moriarty has a crush on my Fury Alter. Calls him Firecracker."

"Ah, the gift wrapped priest..." Q said.

John nodded.

"Flirt is a new one."John said. "He was created after a knife fight purely to kiss Lestrade."

Both Q and Bond looked askance.

"BEFORE Mycroft, or after?" Q asked.

"No idea. But after Flirt kissed Lestrade, any time there was a difficult situation, or I wanted love, affection, attention but it was not the time to ask, Flirt comes out. He has flirted with both of you, and Lestrade, and Dimmock...and..."

John coughed.

"Jim Moriarty."

"Crikey."

"And we had sex once." Sherlock added. "Flirt and I. And...almost had sex once too. I got a decent blow job before I realised it was not John."

"Nice." John said, remembering waking up to find himself between Sherlocks thighs. "Was an effective way to come out."

"And then there is me, John. The original." John said then. "Although Hamish created three more alters after my second abuser came on the scene. You may have known him as Father Wade. Hamish manifest him as an Alter, and Meth to get drugs for the ritual, and AlterBoy to be the vessel. Fury killed him."

"Some of the Alters come and go. Hamish just slots ones in where he sees fit." Sherlock added.

"So...if Flirt comes on to anyone..." Q asked, not looking Bonds way "It would be best to what..?"

"Flirt likes banter, makes him feel good." John said. "Just don't...fuck him."

Bond laughed.

"You try saying no to him!"

"Fucker!" Quintin swore, looking for something to throw at his boyfriends head.

"I am sorry Q, you are wonderful. I was bantering. It was practice for when Flirt comes back." Bond batted his eyes at his Quartermaster.

"Fuck you Bond."

"Sherlock...I am really tired. Can we go home?" John suddenly asked.

"Stay here." Q offered. "It's a suite, has an extra room, I could have your clothes laundered and brought back by morning, there's room service..."

"Yes." John said. The day suddenly heaped upon him. He had buried one of his best friends and had some old wounds opened. He was exhausted.

"Thank you." Sherlock said, heaving John to his feet. 

"Oh and Sherlock.." Q said. "Lock your door. I am afraid Bond may develop a terrible sleepwalking habit."

"Okay. Thank you. Goodnight"

When they had gone, Bond turned to Q.

"I would not do that to you Quintin. Never. I would rather die."

"Die another day." Q said, leaning over and kissing his Bond passionately on the lips.

#


	23. SPANK YOU, SPANK YOU VERY MUCH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has trouble sleeping so Sherlock tells him a bed time story.

MEET

CHAPTER 23: SPANK YOU, SPANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Despite the bed being as huge as a Navy hovercraft, and being exhausted before his shower, John finds himself tossing and turning.

Sherlock rolled over and gathered John to him.

"Can't sleep love?" he rumbled in Johns ear. John wiggled a bit. That voice, so close to his ear, did squirmy things to him.

"Been through a lot lately. My brain is having a hard time settling."

"Shall I tell you a bedtime story?" Sherlock asked. John laughed.

"Okay." he said.

"This one you will need to hold onto your dick for." Sherlock whispered, moving Johns hand down and under his pyjama bottoms. 

"I like it already." John sighed.

"One time I returned to Baker Street knowing someone was inside."

"Oh no...any weapon?"

"Just my hands."

"Okay...."

"So I slowly slide inside, and lock the door behind me. So whoever it was cannot escape."

"Good thinking"

"Still touching yourself John?"

"Yes." John whispered, closing his eyes and concentrating on Sherlocks husky deep voice right in his ear.

"I wandered through the house, trying to find who it was. Finally I find them, on your bed, laying back, looking at me with those ice blue eyes."

"Bond!"

"Uh huh, our crush James Bond, laying back on your bed in a lovely suit, shirt unbuttoned, waiting for me."

"Ohhhh..."

"Uh huh. I demand what he is doing here and he tells me he is tired of denying himself the pleasure of my naked company, so he's come over to fuck me..."

John squirmed. The word "fuck" was right in his ear and it was gorgeous.

"What do you do?"

"Well John...I run my hands up those thighs. You know how big those thighs are. So firm."

"Uh huh.... "

"And when I circle my thumbs on his inner thighs he parts them a little more for me, letting me in."

"Nice...

"I want to touch his big hard cock but I am teasing him. Just using my fingers on his thighs, watching him squirm under me. You think he wants me John? You think he wants me to touch his cock?"

"...ngggg...yes of course. I bet he's begging you with those eyes of his."

"Oh he is John, his eyes are wet and blown with lust. He grabs my wrists with those strong hands of his and tries to move my hands to his cock. I tell him no. He says please Sherlock and I shake my head. He cannot always have what he wants can he John?

"No, tell him no, he needs to hear that sometimes." 

"I scootch up to his chest, kneeling between the legs he has spread wide for me, to let me in. I slowly move the open shirt apart so I can get a good look at that magnificent chest."

"Scars?"

"Of course. Bullet wounds, knife wounds, but between all the scars he has from protecting mother England is beautiful smooth skin. I cannot help but put my tongue on him."

"Mmmmm....where?"

"His nipples. I lick them slowly, one at a time, suck them, bite them."

"Hurt him, does he like it?"

"I bite his neck, hard. He shudders. Of course he likes the pain, John, he's British."

"I bet he arches into your mouth Sherlock, your mouth is so hot and yummy. I can hear him beg for it now."

"He loves what I am doing to his neck, and his throat. Let's me bite it hard, leave marks, asks for more. He's turning very slutty under my mouth."

Sherlocks breath and voice in his ear, the visions he is putting in Johns head, make him smile and close his eyes, biting his bottom lip, stroking his cock firmly.

"What's he begging for now do you think John?"

"A kiss. With tongue."

"I take those beautiful lips with mine, lick him open and kiss him deeply. He kisses me back, hot and heavy, he wants me desperately."

"..nggg..."

"I lay my whole weight on him, feeling his hard body under mine. I roll my hips, pressing my cock to his, teasingly rubbing him as I continue kissing him. He curls his fingers in my hair and pulls me deeper in for a filthy kiss, all tongue and hot moans."

"Yeah, nice...."

"I begin to kiss my way down his chest, lower and lower. He is trying not to push my head down but it seems to be instinct. He wants my mouth on him. He wants me to take him deep and suck him hard..."

"I bet he does. Your mouth is heavenly."

"I pop his button and drag the zip down with my teeth. He moans my name and arches up, begging for my mouth. Do I give it to him John?"

"not...yet..."

"What am I going to do to him John?"

"....ngh...over your knee. Spank him."

"Sssspank double oh seven? Oh John, you are dirrrrrty...I move myself to the end of the bed and ask that he drape himself over my knees. He doesn't want to so I order him. Tell him be good for me. He wants to be good for me so he does as he is told. His pert little arse is over one of my thighs, his hard cock pressing into my trousers. His head is down over my other thigh, hair nearly touching the floor. His hands are clutching the cuff of one of my trouser legs."

"He doesn't want it does he?"

"Of course not John, it is humiliating for him. But he wants me, what can he do?"

"He can lie there and take it."

"I run my hand over the beautiful muscles of his arse. His bum is perfect, smooth, milky and firm. Too white I think. I slap one of his cheeks, just once. He makes no sound. So I spank his other cheek. No sound. I cup my hand and start to smack each of his cheeks regularly. Left, right, left, very very hard, not stopping. His flesh goosebumps in my handprint shape and he clutches my trousers tighter and tighter. Finally I start to really thump into him, full arm swings, all my might, onto those beautiful reddening cheeks."

"Make him scream Sherlock...."

"Oh he is biting his cheek, he does not want to give in, but my onslaught is too much for him. Eventually he begins to squeek with every spank, and then moan and then, when his arse gets to almost purple he gasps no and please and stop and Sherlock..."

"...yes..."

"Until I think he has had enough. Then I lube up two fingers and slide them between his tortured globes. His little hole is winking, ready for my fingers. I sliiiiiide them in, carefully and wiggle them on his prostate. He arches, and fucks my leg, but he wants my fingers inside him. He is begging for my fingers John, begging for them."

Sherlocks voice has grown husky and John realises the detective is stroking his own cock and this makes Johns eyes roll back in lust.

"I sit him up, slick my cock with lots of lube and slide his tight arse onto my cock, slowly, using his hips to guide him. He throws his head back and moans the whole time I am sliding in. When I bottom out he gasps, adjusting to me, and then rocks on my cock."

"Christ Sherlock..." 

"I grip his hips tighter and begin to meet him halfway, ramming up as he rides my cock down, until we have the perfect rhythm. His moans fill the room, he is begging for me to let him come...should I let him John?"

"Slick your hand, get him to fuck your fist..."

"Oh yes, I do just that John. Poor James is shuddering and shaking on top of me now, his skin is so hot and he had lost himself. I ram harder, and stroke him faster. I can feel his orgasm build...he is begging for release, for permission to come..."

"Should I let him John?" Sherlock whispered not.y into Johns ear. "Should I say yes, James, come for me please..."

"Yes yes yes yes..." John chanted breathlessly. "Oh Sherlock Sherlock I am come....nnnnnnnnngggggg!!!"

With a neck busting moan John comes all over his fist, his body arched and his mouth open.

Three seconds later Sherlock comes, Johns name on his lips. 

They pant and shudder for a while, getting their heart rates down. Sherlock cleans them both with a warm wet towel, then kisses John on the forehead.

"Now we know, James is a great bonk." He said. "Flirt can stop flirting with him."

John chuckled. 

"I love you Sherlock."

"Love you."

#

"Do you think we should tell them the walls are very thin in this hotel?"

"No, Q, let's never ever tell them."

"If I do...will you spank me"

"Yes. I will."

"Mmmmm, promise?"

"You Holmes boys are perverts."

#


	24. FRENCH SPEAKER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SleepingJohn has a warning for them all.

MEET

CHAPTER 24: FRENCH SPEAKER

Sherlock felt his shoulder being gently shaken and he was awake in an instant. It was his brother.

"Quintin?"

"Come quickly and quietly. It's John."

Sherlock was up in an instant, bed hair flying. He followed Q through to the lounge room of the hotel where he saw Bond leaning against the doorway of the other bedroom. He was staring at John in the centre of the lounge. 

John had his arms wrapped around his middle and he was rocking gently on his feet. 

Q and Sherlock crossed to Bond. 

"What's wrong?" James asked, a little worry frown on his forehead. 

"It's SleepingJohn." Sherlock said. "Has he said anything?"

Both Q and Bond shook their heads.

"This is the Alter that protects TheBody at night?" Bond said then.

"Yes. He usually comes out when John is feeling threatened." Sherlock said. "Are you certain nothing happened?"

"Nothing we are aware of." Quintin said. "Bond heard him out here and we both came out to look. This is what we found."

Sherlock studied SleepingJohn for a minute then slowly crossed to the Alter.

"SleepingJohn, is everything okay?"

SleepingJohn turned his white bright eyes to Sherlock, arms squeezing tighter but still rocking.

A pause.

"He says another one is trying to come out."

"Another Alter?"

A pause.

"Another Alter." 

"Why? What happened?"

A pause.

"He says we missed something, something important."

"What did we miss?" Sherlock asked. He began to go through everything they had done lately, but it was too much even for the great Sherlock Holmes to do quickly.

A pause. Increased rocking.

"He says this new Alter speaks French. We need a French speaker." then SleepingJohn turned to Sherlock. "What are the Monster Makers?"

"I have no idea." Sherlock said. He looked over at Bond and Q who shrugged and shook their heads.

SleepingJohn turned back to stare at nothing, rocking rocking....

"He says...."

A pause.

"He says...we are in danger Sherlock. We have to watch out for the Monster Makers."

"Who are they?"

A pause.

"We met them. At the circus."

"They were all arrested or killed SleepingJohn."

A pause.

"Not all. They are slippery and sneaky. And clever. Very very clever."

"Why do we need this new Alter? We have been okay before."

A pause.

"We need a French Speaker."

"I speak French. TheBody does not."

A pause.

"We need a French speaker." SleepingJohn repeated. Sherlock let it go. TheBody was a complex machine and Hamish had not steered it wrong yet.

"Thank you for the warning. Is there something else, or can TheBody sleep now?"

A pause.

Then SleepingJohn slipped delicately to the floor, instantly asleep.

"I guess he can sleep now." came Bonds comment.

"Funny. Help me please, we can get him to the couch. I will stay with him." Sherlock said.

The three of them managed to get John to the plush couch. Sherlock volunteered to be Johns pillow and Quintin covered John with a soft blanket.

"I can see what you see in John Watson." Q said gently. "You would never be bored."

"Never." Sherlock said.

"I am glad he found you Sherlock."

"Thank you Quintin."

"You may want to watch his death wish though." Bond said as he disappeared into the bedroom. "The last man who spanked me ended up with all his fingers broken..."

#


	25. MOOSES COCK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pub, drinks, dirty jokes, John and Lestrade.

MEET

CHAPTER 25: MOOSES COCK

A week later found Sherlock and John finally back at Baker Street. Bond and Q had gone off to save the empire again, Johns stitches had come out and Sherlock was studying the intricate and unique patterns of dog noses.

"....no two dog noses are alike, John, I could crack the case wide with that!"

"Uh huh, good, great, I'm off down the pub with Lestrade. ManU are up against Arsenal. I WILL be back late and I most likely will be off my gourd. Enjoy your dog noses."

Sherlock waved John off, barely registering him. John smiled and grabbed his jacket.

#

Two beers in and he and Greg were happy as larks. ManU were up 2-0 and it was only the first half, and the pub was not too full. Not too many Arsenal fans, Lestrade excepted.

"Beats me why we are even friends." John said. "Arsenal, really?"

"CARRRRRRN THA GUNERRRRRRSSSS!!!" Greg called and got peanuts and coasters lobbed at his head. 

"You deserved that." John said, a serious look on his face. "You should have loved up The Devils instead of....that other team, who, by the way, are getting creeeaaaamed!" he sing-songed the last word and Lestrade glowered. 

The half time whistle blew and Lestrade got another round in.

"I have an awesome joke for you." John said then, sipping his third brewski.

"Shoot."

"The Royal family were sitting around for Christmas dinner. Camilla decided to play twenty questions, where you think of something and the others can only ask twenty yes or no questions."

"I am familiar with twenty questions. I DID go to slumber parties as a lad."

"I bet you did. Anyway, Camilla is thinking of a mooses cock. Charles asked 'Is it bigger than a bread box?' and Camilla said 'Yes.'. Then Phillip asks 'Can I fit it in my mouth?' and Camilla says 'Yes' so the Queen says 'Is it a mooses cock?'" 

Lestrade burst out laughing and John grinned.

"Like that one?"

"Loved it!"

"Almost as hilarious as your team." John nodded to the pub television which was showing replays of the first half.

"Ho Ho Ho Watson, you are a funny funny man."

"I think so." John agreed. "So is your team manager. WE got Van Persie off you guys because you had no idea how awesome a player he was!"

"No, it's because you bribed him with money and a mooses cock."

"Bitch!" John laughed.

"Jerk."

"Did you just Supernatural me?"

"Maybe"

"How is it you are not married you Nerdy Arsenal Workaholic?"

"He hasn't asked."

"Ew. Now I have to bleach my brain,"

"Don't cast nasturtiums on my man John, Mycroft is a very talented man. His tongue alone should be registered as a deadly weapon."

"Double ew, seriously, MYCROFT HOLMES!!! Does he even own genitalia?"

"Well...yes...and it's bigger than a bread box..."

John choked on his beer...

#

Across the pub from Lestrade and Watson sat a man, watching them both. 

He looked impassive from the outside but inside he was seething. There was the man who was responsible for the horror his life was now.

Revenge is a dish best served hot and bloody and screaming and begging for mercy, slashed and torn and broken and....

The man shuddered at the delicious pictures in his mind.

A waiter placed another scotch in front of him.

"Merci." he said, and stared at John and Greg with eyes grown glittery with hate.

#


	26. JUDE THE OBSCURE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets the new Alter.
> 
> My iPad does not transfer the italics so to denote where French is spoken I have put *"these things"*.
> 
> And yes, the new Alter is French and obnoxious,not because he is French but mostly because he is one eyed and determined...
> 
> Okay, maybe a little bit because he is French.....

MEET

CHAPTER 26: JUDE THE OBSCURE

The moonlight shone in the windows of Baker street. John had come home hours before and he and Sherlock had shared sweet kisses and a cuddle and fallen asleep in each others arms.

The window was open to let out the cigarette smoke. The window sill made an excellent make-shift seat for the man perched there, staring down into the street, boots up on the sill next to him.

The red tip of the cigarette glowed as he inhaled and a white misty smoke drifted into the night when he exhaled.

When he heard the tentative footsteps behind him, the man turned. He stared at the tall, curly haired figure looking at him, jungle cat eyes and pale skin a bit whiter in the silver of the moonlight.

"Since when do you smoke?"

The man turned to exhale out the window and turned back. He said nothing. Just stared.

"John, why are you smoking?"

The man said nothing.

"Where did you get the cigarettes from John?"

Sherlock tried something new because sometimes his brain was slower than at other times.

*"Who am I addressing?"* he asked in French. 

*"Jude, like The Abscure"* Jude said in a haughty voice, French annunciation perfect. 

Sherlock had no idea that John actually knew much more French than swear words and directions to the nearest pub. Apparently an incorrect assumption, manifest in this new Alter. 

At least his time Sherlock had been prepared for the possibility of a new Alter, unlike when AlterBoy had turned up and tried to eat his own wrists.

*"Hello. I am Sherlock."

*"No shit. He told me who you are. Idiot."*

Oh. PROPER French man then. Who smokes. Wonderful, and he with an 8 patch a week habit.

*"Why are you here?*" Sherlock asked *"Did he also tell you that?"*

Jude looked back out of the window and sighed like he was the most put-upon person in the universe.

*"I am a good fuck."* he said, then shrugged *"Also, I can stop the Monsters."*

*"What monsters Jude?"*

*"The ones you and John missed at Makers circus. He was too busy drooling over Miach, you were too busy perving on the freaks."*

*"Who, Jude, who did we miss?"*

*"The Maker. You missed the Monster at Makers. The Monster Maker. You and John shot, and scored it is true, but you only cut the legs off the snake, you missed the head."*

Sherlock shivered. What had he not seen that John had, enough so that Hamish created this new Alter? Who had they missed? As far as he knew all the circus folk had died if they were part of the Bean family, been arrested if they were in any way involved, and all the others had been let go, to go back to the circus. 

How had all those people in authority missed the head of the snake? How had HE, the great Sherlock Holmes, missed the head of the snake?

*"Oh wait...."* Jude said then...*"Snakes do not have legs...no matter. We have to go back to the circus and crush the head."*

Sherlock groaned. Would they ever get a break?

*"I can send Lestrade and his troops to-"*

*"Ah, you have turned coward. I suspected you would. No matter, I will go on my own with TheBodys gun. You stay here, look at your bat anus pictures. We will be back in time for breakfast."*

Jude crushed his cigarette out on the sill and hopped down. 

*"Did you mean, we go now?"*

*"Of course now, before he makes any more monsters."*

*"The monster maker...?

*"Makes monsters yes. Freaks are becoming too proud to show themselves. He has to get them from somewhere."*

*"Oh my God."* was all Sherlock could say. *"Jude, how do you know? How do you know all this?"*

*"It was all in the caravan where John was cut. Did you not see?"*

*"No. All I saw was John."* Sherlock admitted. He actually felt almost ashamed. He saved John, and he really only had eyes for his bleeding lover, what was in the caravan that John had seen? He trolled through his memory, and it was all there, but he had simply not looked around enough to have any relevant data.

*"Are you getting it now Sherlock?*"

Sherlock was silent. Jude gripped the taller mans upper arms.

*"Two pillows, two cups, two pairs of shoes...."* he said, shaking Sherlock gently. 

*"Miach had a partner!"* Sherlock finally said.

*"At last the dawn comes. Yes, Miach had a partner."*

*"But she would have been rounded up with the others, interviewed...*"

*"Not a woman.*"

*"Man then. He would have been in the round up."*

*"He was. He knows where to hide. In plain sight. "*

*"He will be hard to ferret out then."*

*"Almost impossible. Now, shall we fuck, or will I suck you off?"*

Jude pressed his lips to Sherlocks and, despite not knowing this man for more than half and hour, the fact it was Johns body still did things to the detective. Jude's tongue was very clever and Sherlock enjoyed his ministrations, but his brain was in that caravan, looking with his mind palace memory, to see if he could link the missing pieces. 

Jude sensed he did not have all of Sherlocks attention so he pulled away.

*"Another time then"* he said, then he started to walk off. His knees have out and he fell forward. Sherlock yelped and grabbed for him, but he righted himself, blinking.

"Hey Sherlock..." it was John, and he was speaking English. 

"Hey John."

"Why am I up and..." he thrust his tongue out and then dragged it back again. "And why does my mouth taste worse than the bottom of a Norwegian Blues cage....?"

"We have a new Alter. He is French and I am sorry but he smokes...."

"The fuuuuuck?" John spat, looking askance.

"I can give him patches."

"No, the smoking I can live with...but he's fucking FRENCH?"

"Yes..."

"I must have been really bad in a last life." John sighed.

#

Later that night Detective Inspector Lestrade, who had been working late as usual, was taken from behind New Scotland Yard with such efficiency it was as if he had been spirited away by ghosts.

#


	27. A VERY MUCH BIT NOT GOOD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get this show on the road y'all....

MEET

CHAPTER 27: A VERY MUCH BIT NOT GOOD

From the second Lestrade was grabbed and shoved into the range rover he was in a living horror show. His hands were cuffed and a gag was shoved into his mouth. He was sat uncomfortable in the back, a gun shoved into his ribs.

The driver had a hood, the gunman had a hood and the passenger had a hood and a shotgun. It was silent in the car but for the passengers weird breathing and the tyres on the road. The windows were tinted and Greg could not see out. He had no idea where he was, or where he was headed, or who had him, or why.

All he did know was he was in a buttload of trouble.

#

Mycroft very rarely lost his cool. Years of training kept anything showing on his face and very little from affecting his heart. He had operated on this firm footing for the whole of his political career. Apart from Quintin and Sherlock, and Sigursund in Yorkshire with his bees, there had been nobody he had cared about in years. Many MANY years.

Then into his life walked Detective Inspector Gregory Anthony Lestrade with his silver hair, his big grey eyes and his beautiful fit tanned body. He took no guff from his frustrating little brother and the banter with Mycroft was inspiring. 

It was only a matter of time before Lestrade seduced him, and oh did Mycroft allow himself to be seduced. Greg Lestrade was a smouldering demon in the sack, and quite cultured for a commoner.

So when Lestrade disappeared Mycroft was as close to a gibbering wreak he had ever EVER been.

And all he could think to do was run to his little brother.

#

The horror show stepped up a notch when Greg saw where he was being taken. It was the hangar of a long abandoned airfield somewhere, and, judging by time in the car and freshness of air, perhaps in Wales or the Irish coast. Round the hangar were 8 foot high fences, a guard post at every corner, and barbed wire, in coils on the ground and over the top of the walls.

The gate was opened by two guards in rags and hoods but with surprisingly well cared for guns. The range rover drove inside the compound and straight to the hangar. 

Inside the huge space was about twenty beds, all with IV's and white sheets. Yellow lights hung down to the side of the space but spots of Fluorescent lights were over tables. Hooded people moved between the beds, each of which had a body on it. Most were very still but some were moving and, when the door to the range rover was opened, he heard some screaming. And moaning. And begging.

Lestrades heart began to pound. This did not look good....this did not look at all good...

#

When Mycroft crashed into Sherlocks apartment John and Sherlock were just getting breakfast. They stared at the minor government official in shock. 

His suit was untidy.

No tie.

No umbrella.

And most shocking of all..

Hair all mussed.

"Mycroft, what's wrong?" John cried, as Sherlock crossed and grabbed his brothers arms.

"Mycroft?" he whispered.

"Sherlock...they have Gregory..."

"Who do?"

"I don't know...I don't...KNOW!" Mycrofts fist clenched as if he wanted to punch the face of so done, anyone, as long as it got Lestrade back. "CCTV footage shows hooded men in a range rover snatching him off the street at the back of The Yard."

"Wait...wait, Quintin said Miachs group wore hoods...John...could it be The Monster Makers?"

"The what?"

"Jude told me about the Monster...oh shit bugger fuck, you have no idea...can you get Jude-"

"Wait...don't you have a tracking device on Lestrade?" John interrupted Sherlocks apparent ramblings.

Mycroft was shaking his head.

"No no... he told me if I ever tracked him through anything but my cameras he would never... Give me oral pleasure again."

"And you fell for that?" Sherlock asked, incredulously.

"The man has a magic mouth!" 

"John, we need Jude-"

Then for the second time in five minutes, the door was smashed in.

Only this time it was it was a man in a long grey coat, an impressive shotgun, twinkling eyes and a brilliant smile.

"Come on you lot stop fannying about. Let's go get your detective inspector!" said a brash American voice.

"Who the fuck...?" Sherlock began.

"Captain Jack Harkness." John breathed happily. 

"My cars are downstairs, gather your purses ladies, let's go!" and he cocked the gun with an enthusiastic click

#


	28. MONSTER MAKER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is in a living nightmare.

MEET

CHAPTER 28: MONSTER MAKER

Lestrade had never been so terrified in his entire life. He struggled for all he was worth as he was strapped to the hospital type bed with restraints he had only ever seen in mental institutions in horror movies. The sounds he made through the gag were deep from his terror but all these hooded people were strong, and determined. 

When Greg had been a young copper, his first year on the beat, he had faced a coked up man with a shotgun and nothing to loose. That was as close as he had come to death and, until now, the second scariest thing he had ever faced. (after asking Mycroft out to dinner that first time).

The same fear that gripped him on that cold night so many years ago, that same helplessness in facing the fact that the druggies children were held hostage and Greg may not be able to save them, that same feeling of no control, took hold of Greg's heart with icy fingers and would not let go.

Once his wrists and ankles were secured, a belt was strapped over his knees, waist and chest, effectively stopping all movement but a pathetic writhing.

Only then was his gag removed.

"God damn you crazy fucks, let me go!" he screamed, struggling like crazy. 

"Detective, I suggest you stop struggling, you may hurt yourself." came a voice behind his head. 

Greg strained to see who it was and followed with his eyes as the man came into view. He was hooded like the others. Greg could hardly make out his face beneath the hood.

"The fuck are you?" Greg spat.

"My name, detective, is Micah. I believe you knew my brother. Miach." the man removed his hood to reveal a surprisingly beautiful face. Greg was expecting someone as ugly as his actions. He remembered John saying the man who had tied him up and tried to cut the Alters out of him had been pretty. 

"Identical twins?"

"Indeed. Very clever." Micah nodded.

"Micah and Miach? Really?" Greg asked then, incredulously.

"Our parents were peasants who lived in a cave Greg. How creative do you think they could get?"

"You seem educated."

"I travelled." Micah said, shrugging.

"What...exactly...are you doing here?"

"Demand and supply, Detective." Micah tested the restraint over Gregs knees. 

"The fucks' that mean?"

"There was a time when Freaks had a legitimate business Detective. Great men would scour the land for backwoods deformities, extremes of human development, genetic mutations." Micah said, as he rolled a sheet covered tray towards him. "They would pay the families generous sums of money to procure such specimens and then give them jobs in freak shows for the rest of their lives."

"Yeah, real first class citizens!" Lestrade spat sarcastically.

"it was better than what they could have expected if left where they were, Detective. And really, are they treated better now?" Micah flexed surprisingly pretty fingers. "Even with with political correctness and human rights and all that sanctimonious do-gooding, the deformed freaks of today have no slot in society, and are relegated to hospitals."

"So you are saying bring back freak shows?" Greg asked, still testing his wrist restraints in case they had loosened in the last five seconds. They had not.

"Greg, you never did see our setup at Makers, did you? And now, you have effectively torn our lives apart, roaring through our circus, arresting and causing unrest. We had a safe haven there for freaks. And now, thanks to you Mister Lestrade, my freaks are scattered and once again repressed."

"Then they should not have been eating people."

"It was only a few freaks eating people. Mostly it was my family and descendants." Micah shrugged. "But you only do as you know. For us, eating people is the norm."

Greg shuddered. "Ew."

Micah threw back the sheet on the tray revealing shiny and menacing looking surgical instruments.

"The fuuuuuck....?"

"We are running out of Freaks Greg. Surgery, genetic improvements, healthier living, selective abortions, we are interfering too much to get the 'perfect child', and it is working. Fewer freaks are being made and so now...my brother and I had to make our own. Another family business. Monster Makers."

"You sick fucks!" Greg spat, heart pounding faster now. He was beyond terrified but still so very angry.

"Mind you, we have also made our own for two hundred years. Not as long lived, your freaks of yesteryear, but with soooo many unwanted babies and children, and nobody caring where those babies ended up, we had lots of fresh blood to...twist to our will."

"My God...." Greg breathed. "Insane!"

"Some of us. You don't live on a diet of human without risking Karl Jacobs, but mad freaks are way more sellable."

Micah ran his hand down Lestrades face and Greg jerked away.

"What am I going to create with you, my new clay? You are a fine, beautiful specimen. I think I will toy with you a bit, just for fun, and then fiddle with your brain. You will make a beautiful drooler. And then, if you live, I will keep you for my own. If you die..." Micah indicated the people moaning around him. "I have so many more people to play with."

"God...no..." Greg whispered, mind going into overdrive. He was going to be tortured, driven mad. He was not afraid of the pain, he was afraid of never returning to the existence he created. To Mycroft, the very love of his life, to Sherlock and John and crime stopping and beers on Thursday night.

"I won't gag you." Micah said, lifting a shiny scalpel, homage to his brothers blade of choice. This was as much for poor dead Miach as for Micah. "I want to hear you scream, as my family screamed when the missiles hit. As my brother screamed when his life was snuffed. Some of my clay are given pain relief. You, Greg...have in no way earned ANY kindness from me."

The scalpel descended to Greg's shirt and deftly cut the material away. It was freakishly sharp. In a matter of minutes Greg was shirtless and exposed under the harsh fluorescent light.

"Please, don't do this..." Greg whispered, astonished at the wetness in his eyes. 

"Hush Greg." Micah said, and began to cut.

Greg tried not to scream. He tried so hard. He breathed through his nose, then clenched his teeth and breathed out with such force that spittle flew from his lips. But whatever Micah was cutting into his chest just did not stop until Greg's resolve left him and he screamed and screamed and screamed...

#


	29. TORCHWOOD WHORE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to rescue Greg. Will they get there in time?

MEET

CHAPTER 29: TORCHWOOD WHORE

Jack Harkness turned to look at the back seat passengers from his position in the shotgun seat of the car. 

"My driver and tea boy, Ianto." he introduced the driver as the black 4WD pulled out of the curb. Ianto grunted in greeting and then concentrated on driving.

John was polite enough to say hello but Sherlock was staring out the window and Mycroft, in the middle of the the doctor and Sherlock, stared at nothing. He was trying so very hard not to freak out. He was Mycroft fucking Holmes for fucks sake!

"In the car behind is Gwen and Owen." Jack went on, indicating the same sort of 4WD which was close on their tail. "We belong to a government group called TORCHWOOD. You will not have-"

"I know about TORCHWOOD." Mycroft interrupted. 

"Government man?" Jack asked. Mycroft nodded. 

"He is usually much less out-of-sorts." Sherlock offered. "But Greg and he are lovers."

"Oh.." Jack said. He paused, then handed Mycroft his weapon. "For you, then, Mycroft."

"I hardly think-" John began but Sherlock put his arm across his brother to touch John. 

"Let him." Sherlock said, then to Jack "Thank you."

Jack saluted Sherlock. 

"Exactly who are we chasing?" Sherlock asked then. "Is it the Monster Makers?"

"How do you know of them?" Ianto suddenly said, and Jack patted his thigh.

"Ianto, sweetie, eyes on the road."

Ianto snapped into silence.

"Jude told me." Sherlock said.

"Who is Jude?"

"I am, apparently." John volunteered.

"I thought you were John."

"I am." John said. "But sometimes I am other people."

The silence that greeted that was quite full. Then Jack said "How does Jude know about the Monster Makers?"

"I think the better question is, what is Torchwoods' interest?" Mycroft interrupted, keeping his eyes on his own hand, which was stroking the shotgun.

"We believe something in The Rift has become interested in the concentrated terror." Jack said. Mycroft stopped breathing for a minute, and closed his eyes. 

Greg...my God Greg...

"Shit..." John swore. 

Ianto fiddled in his jacket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

"Ianto, no." Jack said. 

"Fuck you Jack." Ianto said pleasantly, and lit up off the cars cigarette lighter. He rolled down the window and let the smoke whip our into the early morning wind.

John shuddered, and then lent forward.

*"I will suck your cock for a cigarette.*" he said to Ianto.

"Meet Jude." Sherlock sighed. "He would like a cigarette please."

"Why is he speaking Gutter French?" Jack asked.

*"The simpering mouth on you, is it good for anything but speaking shit?"* Jude said to Jack, then added to Ianto *"A cigarette, if you would be so kind."*

*"Jude, be nice, Jack is taking us to Greg."* Sherlock said.

*"Where he will beg for my help like the whore he is."* Jude shrugged, taking the lit cigarette from Ianto great fully.

"It IS gutter French." Mycroft insisted.

*"Roll a window down Jude."* Sherlock said, then said to the rest of the car: "Since when is everyone so knowledgeable about a rare French dialect?"

"Did you not know it was Gutter?" Jack asked then.

"It did not seem important." Sherlock said.

*"Stop jabbering like chimps you faggots, I am getting a headache."* Jude snapped, rolling down a window as requested.

*"Jude, please, be nice!"* Sherlock snapped.

*"Hamish said you needed me. He did not say I had to like you."*

*"Jude!"*

"How did you know to get us?" Mycroft asked Jack then, ignoring Sherlock and Jude's bickering.

"I recognised Lestrade from the party. We have been monitoring the CCTV around London for a while and we saw the Monster Makers remove him from the street early this morning. Took us an hour to mobilise, but we needed help. Who better than his family?"

Mycroft paled and a very small sound came from his throat. He lent his forehead on his gun.

*"It is okay to love him Mycroft."* Jude said, surprisingly kindly, staring into the trees as they flashed past.

*"I know that Jude. He is easy to love, but look where it gets me. I am hopeless...."* Mycroft sighed back to Jude in French.

*"Not with that gun Myroft. That will blow a Maker away with one shot, and it holds eighteen rounds."* Jack said, in the same dialect Jude used. Jude snickered.

*"Not as moronic as you look."* 

*"Not a whore either.*" Jack added.

Jude laughed sarcastically.

*"The eyes you have been making at Johns boyfriend say different."*

*"He's gorgeous."* Jack shrugged.

*"He's Johns."* and Jude was not bantering, he was serious.

Silence fell in the car, each man in his own world. Whatever they were driving towards would not be pleasant. Monster Makers by the very name were spine chillingly frightening. None of them wanted to imagine what Lestrade was possibly going through. 

Mycrofts mind was now stilling to crystal clearness. He had only one thing in his mind. Get Greg out alive. If there was collateral damage he cared not. He had blown up a whole family of human flesh eaters for upsetting his darling little brother. The hell he had planned for anyone who som much as harmed a hair on Gregs head...well, suffice to say the anger was cooling to a hot ball of rage at the centre of Mycrofts belly.

An hour later Ianto was pulling under some trees to the side of the road.

"We are here." he said.

"Lock and load." Jack rolled out of the car and waved to the other car pulling in behind.

Jude stepped out of the car and stretched his back.

*"Let's go eviscerate."* he said, and strolled off.

#


	30. SCREAMING MEAT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Greg cannot take the terrible pain anymore....

MEET

CHAPTER 30: SCREAMING MEAT

Greg's world had shrunk to pain and adrenaline. His throat was harsh from constant screaming. He was ashamed, at first, when his screaming turned to begging, but then, his begging turned to sobs, and shame was one emotion he was not strong enough to maintain.

Every single nerve in his whole body was exhausted from being constantly on edge. His chest stung and ached from the carving Micah had spent so much time over. He felt violated and insulted that the pain was so bad. And it just didn't stop. The scalpel was relentless, parting his skin, slicing his nerves, cutting at his muscle. 

He heard the wet splats of his own skin falling off the table and onto the ground. The sound made the bile rise in his already tortured throat. Whatever it was that Micah was carving involved a great deal of skin being removed.

Lestrade disengaged his mind and he walked away from the horror being done to him.

#

"Gregory...come here. Kiss me." Mycroft called softly from the plush kitchen in his penthouse. Never one to refuse that request, Greg fell into Mycroft and pressed his lips to the politicians hot mouth. 

Softly, deftly, they kissed one another. Even if they never got around to a hot shag, kissing Mycroft was always wonderful. He was warm, pliant, and quite lovely, especially when he let himself relax. And Greg was the only one who saw that side of Mycroft. His brothers saw love occasionally but Greg got everything, EVERYTHING, sometimes only from one deep kiss in the kitchen.

"I love you Gregory."

Mycroft did not say that often but when he did, he said it from the heart. It always made Gregs knees go weak.

"I love you Gregory."

"Mycroft, I need you-"

#

Reality snapped back with a scream he recognised as his own. 

"Nearly lost you there Gregory." Micah said then, and smiled. His smile was so beautiful but he was hurting Greg, making him scream. 

"Please....stop...enough...."

"No safe word here Lestrade. But that is your chest done." 

Just when Greg thought he could bare no more pain, Micah rubbed a betadine solution over the whole raw meat of his chest. The scream that tore from Greg was high pitched and ghastly, his whole face a rictus.

"God, kill me, just kill me kill me I cannot do this any more!!!!" and he dissolved into piteous sobs.

"Oh tut Greg. Now the fun part starts. You want the pain to go?"

"Yes, please, please!!!"

"I am going to cut into your head Greg. Soon the pain will go and you will be very much more agreeable."

All Greg could do was sob and cry, insensible words dropping from his chewed lips. His whole chest was on fire and his sanity was slipping away.

"Ah my Detective, you have been so brave. And now, it-"

Micah turned his head as one of his own vehicles smashed through the gate. A great howling started up from some of his freaks, and a few of the more awake clay. 

Micah himself stood up, scalpel still in his hand. He assessed what was going on with a quickness that had always served him well. 

Then quick as a flash he cut Greg loose, lifted him off the bed and used him as a screaming human shield as he backed away to the secret exit only he knew of.

#


	31. JUSTICE COMES AT THE BARREL OF A GUN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would NOT want to be Micah right now....

MEET

CHAPTER 31: JUSTICE COMES AT THE BARREL OF A GUN

Jack always loved this bit. Surprising the guards, taking them down with pulse weapons years away from being created on this earth, commandeering a vehicle and using that vehicle as another weapon.

He leaped from the car with Owen, Ianto and Gwen, all armed with the same pulse weapons.

As he suspected, Remnants were amongst the humans. Remnants lived on terror and meat, it didn't matter if it was human, alien, or other Remnants. The four of them took out eight Remnants in three seconds, and then Jack and Ianto had to chase another one down, while Gwen and Owen locked down the ones they had already shot.

Behind the Torchwood soldiers Sherlock, Jude and Mycroft fell out of the crappy 4WD they had commandeered. Sherlock was armed with an impressive hand gun, which he held in front of him with two hands, but found nobody to shoot. The Torchwood team had picked out their targets and shot with accuracy. But Sherlock was unsure who to shoot. Nobody was threatening him. In fact, most of the people were hysterical and hiding under the tables. 

The things on the table were humans, Sherlock noted. Badly injured, mutilated humans. His face paled. Monster Makers were actually...oh my God, the deformities..no no, and where was Greg? Surely HE was not one of these....

A hooded man ran screaming at Sherlock, swinging a baseball bat, and Sherlock shot before he even thought. The mans hood flew off and he dropped to the floor. Sherlock tried not to look as he stepped over the body and advanced.

Mycroft stood completely still, shotgun pointed down. He surveyed the situation with cold, calculated eyes. He was, of course, searching for Greg. But what he saw motivated him to press the emergency medi vac button on his phone. These people were going to need medical help. 

After Sherlock shot a man coming straight for him, Mycroft lifted the shotgun and advanced. Sure, his eyes were everywhere, but it was Greg he was looking for, Greg he was searching for, Greg he needed to find with every molecule of his being...

Jude was also armed. A cigarette hung from his lip, unlit, and he held a pistol with two hands, to the side of his body. He stood off to the left. He saw Sherlock shoot, and then he watched Mycroft shoulder the shotgun. 

Then, as Torchwood followed their quarry, and Sherlock moved off to the right and Mycroft hunted for his silver fox, Jude caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Instinct told him to start running. And as he ran he saw what it was he was chasing after. It was Gregory Lestrade being dragged by the dead ringer of the man who had cut TheBody. Jude increased his pace until he was speeding across the hangar.

*"Stop! You take him any further and I will shoot you in the fucking neck!"* Jude yelled at the retreating figures in his Gutter French. 

Micah saw the man coming towards him and dragged his burden faster, but Greg was barely conscious, and gravely injured. Micah had badly miscalculated on several levels. 

He did not think anyone was onto him and his brother.

He figured his hangar was unserveilled.

He thought he would have plenty of time with his companion.

And most telling of all, he underestimated just how important this one man was to so many very important and influential people.

So he only very nearly got to the back door before Jude caught up with him and cornered him. He spat out the unlit cigarette.

*"I said stop you motherfucker."* Jude said, training his pistol between the eyes of Micah. Greg groaned as Micah thrust the scalpel into the delicate skin at his throat. Just another pinprick of pain to add to the spreading agony of his chest, not eased at all by Micahs arm across it, holding him up.

*"Stop. Stop there or I kill him."* Micah said in the same Gutter French Jude used.

*"Give him up you pig licker. You are as good as dead."*

*"I have already half killed him. It will not take much to finish him off."*

"John...please...don't..." Lestrade begged weakly. "Don't let him hurt you..."

*" Be quiet Lestrade!"* Jude spat. He could not afford for John to come back just yet. He needed his Gutter French Alter.

Lestrade did not understand what Jude had said but be was barely conscious, and could not form any coherent sentences anyway.

*"Who are you to Miach? You look just like him."* Jude asked, adjusting his stance slightly.

*"I am his twin, of course. Micah. You were in the pub with Greg the other night."*

*"No. That was not me. Now give up Greg and I will not have to fuck you up."*

*"But I like this one."* Micah said, squeezing Greg lightly, making the detective moan with pain and shake. Jude had no idea how the man was even standing. From what he knew of the detective it would be sheer cussedness.

*"Somebody much more dangerous than you loves this one. I have given you fair warning."* Jude said, eyes slitting.

*"Then he should not have killed the man I loved."* Micah shrugged.

*"Your brother."*

*"Yes. He killed him sure as putting a gun to his head. Or a scalpel to his throat."* Micah smiled. 

*"You were close, yes? Were you the oldest?"*

*"We were exactly the me age. When we were born we were together. Only butchering ripped us apart."*

"*You were conjoined...of course."* Jude said in wonder.

*"He told you all, did he not?"*

*"He made it seem as if he was still conjoined with his brother."*

*"No. We tried to stitch ourselves back together but it did not work. We were lucky our family joined with the Monster Makers. But even they could not make us whole."*

*"And what does this have to do with Greg?"*

The change over Micah was instant. He turned red with fury and screamed.

*"He took...my BROTHER...FROM ME!!!"*

The scream snapped both Sherlock and Mycrofts heads their way. Jude cursed. He had wanted to do this without the Holmes brothers interference. They were entirely too emotional. They would interfere with Jude's investigation.

But the look in Micahs eye forced Jude's hand. The next things happened in slow motion, but Jude never lost control. 

Micah swung back the arm holding the scalpel. Jude crouched slightly and when the arc was right, he pulled the trigger. The bullet flew true and hit Micah square in the inner part of his upper arm. The scalpel spiralled away, Greg was dropped, and Micah flew back to hit the door he had been hoping to escape from. He clutched at the arm but it was bleeding heavily. He tried to get up but he was physically unable to. The pain and blood loss was already too much.

Jude dropped to his knees beside Greg and lifted his silver head gently into his lap. 

*"It's okay Greg, we are here. You will be okay."*

"Mycroft..." Greg asked, eyes rolling. Once again, sheer force of will was keeping this detective conscious.

And then Mycroft was there, next to him, his long hands cool on Gregs hot face. The look that passed between the two was as deep as it was tragic.

"I am here Gregory." Mycroft whispered, voice filled with love even as it shattered. When he took in the terrible damage done to the love of his life he took his shotgun, stood, aimed, and fired. A piece of Micah flew off. Micah screamed.

*"Have you got all you want from him Jude?"* Mycroft asked then, his voice deadly. He was still aiming over the gun. 

*"Do it."* Jude said, without looking up from Gregs destroyed body.

Mycroft shot again. Another tiny bit of Micah flew off and Micah screamed. Another shot, another bit, another scream. Again. Again. Again....until Micah was beyond screaming, and Mycroft had run out of bullets.

By then Sherlock had skidded up. He avoided looking at Greg and went straight to his brother. He gently, from behind, grasped Mycrofts arms and forced the gun down. Mycroft allowed it. He had lost any power to hold the gun up now and having Sherlock support him was welcome. 

"Mycroft...he's dead..." Sherlock whispered, then lowered his voice still further. "Well done." he lightly shook his now trembling brother. "Now...Greg needs you.." he took the shotgun as Mycroft turned and collapsed to his knees next to Greg.

"Gregory...I'm here love." he murmured. He stroked Greg's hair in Jude's lap. Greg's eyes rolled to fix on Mycroft and he began to cry.

"I knew you would come..I knew it, I knew it..." and then he slumped, unconscious, onto Jude's lap.

#


	32. A LIFT HOME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleaning up the mess, set up for a Hot Mess...
> 
> I had trouble writing this chapter because I was still freaked out about what had happened to Greg. I so want sexy times now so I thought, fuck it, threesome in the 4WD on the way home. Why not? And I will keep John John because he is too exhausted to be anyone else.

MEET

CHAPTER 32: A LIFT HOME

Not for the first time, Mycrofts men and Torchwood worked together. They cleared the warehouse in one hour and forty-four minutes. It was just as if it had been abandoned for years.

Captain Jack was pleased with his Remnant haul. He and his had team got every single one of them, none escaped.

Mycrofts Medi Vac team took in all the Monster Maker victims, and Mycrofts government team took in the remaining Monster Makers themselves, paying special attention to the remains of Micah.

Triple the attention was paid to Greg Lestrade. Mycroft expected it, and it was done.

"Sherlock, I have to..I must..." Mycroft said as Greg was pumped full of pain meds and place extra gently on a gurney.

"Go,please, I need to stay with John." Sherlock said, waving to where John, not Jude, sat slumped against a wall.

Mycroft nodded and Sherlock clapped his hand on his brothers shoulder.

"Go. We will catch up with you. Txt me if anything happens, or of you need to talk." he said.

"Thank you Sherlock." Mycroft modded and left with his boyfriends gurney.

#

Greg was floating, pain free. Something had happened. Something bad. Maybe to him, but not to Mycroft because his heart was not black....

He tried to call for Mycroft but his throat did not work. And then there was this noise, like...a roaring, right through his bones. 

A warm hand slid into his.

"I have you Gregory. Sleep, you are going to be fine."

Then he was swooping up and being rocked and it was very very nice...

#

John concentrated on his breathing. He was aware he was trembling and there was a pounding in his head. What he had come to and seen...Gregs chest, carved and bloody, and Micah, bits of him missing...what had he done? Had he finally cracked, become a cold blooded killer?

A small moan fell from him as Sherlock crouched next to him. John blindly pushed him away.

"No, Sherlock, I don't want to hurt you too!"

"John?" Sherlocks warm voice asked. What's wrong?"

"You saw what I did! You saw Greg...oh my God, I am a killer, he was bleeding so much, Christ!!"

"No John, No, you stupid man! Micah did that! It was Micah!" Sherlock shook John by the shoulders. "John, it was not you!"

Johns head snapped up, caught Sherlocks eyes.

"Not me...?"

Sherlock nodded, and proceeded to tell him the quick version of what happened. John calmed down, slowed his panicked breathing, clinging to Sherlocks coat sleeves with fingers gone all crampy.

"Christ....Greg..."

"He will recover." Sherlock said.

Suddenly they were aware of another presence. Captain Jack Harkness was standing nearby, smiling at them.

"I sent my team on. I'm going to drive you home." he said.

"I would not trust you to drive the POINT home Harkness. I will drive." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, I bow to your insistence." Harkness said, then turned his eyes to Johns. "Are you John again?"

John nodded as Sherlock helped him to his feet. Jacks eyes roamed the doctors body up and down.

"Well...HI there..."

#


	33. REAR VIEW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John really is wanted sexually by everyone.

MEET

CHAPTER 33: REAR VIEW

Sherlock took the wheel and John fell asleep in the back seat. When Jack also took the back seat, Sherlock knew what Jack wanted. 

Jack wanted John.

Sherlock was not sure he objected. Jack had an annoyingly sexy warm way about him that made people feel good. And John needed to feel good. Besides, John was his. Always. Jack could not have him forever, so why not let the man have a small taste of the sweetness that was John Watson? He HAD just helped save Greg Lestrades life.

About an hour out from London John woke up.

"Alright?" Sherlock asked him. 

"Yes, lovely." John rubbed his eyes. He was still tired but had at least recharged his batteries for a while. "You good Sherlock?"

"Jack was entertaining me with the antics of a mutual acquaintance of ours." Sherlock said.

"You have friends everywhere huh Jack?"

"I'm a friendly guy."

John felt a big crowded in the back of the jeep. Jack had divested himself of his great coat and rolled the sleeves of his blue shirt up. He looked entirely too comfortable for a man who had just seen so much horror. He was twinkling at John. John a hemmed, hugged himself, and looked out the window.

When he felt light fingers on his jeans, John looked down to see Jacks hand. Sliding up his thigh. He looked up into Jacks face. Jack winked.

"Erm..." poor John said, and skittered a look to Sherlock via the rear vision mirror. Sherlock looked back at him impassively and then....gave him the very slightest of nods.

John did not know what overcame him. He had just had one of the longest black out periods of his life, and had woken up to the mutilated chest of one of his best friends, and had been surrounded by destruction he had still yet to understand. He had then assumed it was he who had done it and dammit...he wanted kindness!

So he turned to Jack, grabbed the man by the back of the neck, and smashed his mouth to those infuriating lips. Jack yelped but instinct took over. He closed his eyes, slid his hands up Johns chest, and brought the smaller man in for a warm, tonguey kiss. 

John responded instantly. He curled up into the heat of Jacks body, surrounding the mans broad back with his arms and squeezed him to his chest. Jack found himself moaning. He was used to having a small bit of resistance from beings he wanted to pash, but John was instantly pliant and warm beneath his mouth and Jack liked it very much.

Johns tongue slipped over Jacks and his lips moulded perfectly to the Captains mouth. Okay, Jack had had a lot of lovers...okay, like, many hundreds, but John Watson was really something else. Quiet and sweet in his little jumper, dirty little kisser once you set him on fire. Jack was very VERY pleased indeed.

Sherlock adjusted the rear view mirror, and then adjusted the front of his trousers.

John slid one of his hands back to the nape of Jacks neck and forced the kiss deeper. Jack moaned. Now that was hot! He responded by ramming his tongue into Johns mouth and thrusting it deeply into his throat. John sucked it down and used his teeth to keep it in his mouth and Jack moaned again, longer, deeper. 

Sherlock accidentally swerved the car, then adjusted it back to the road. 

Jack broke the kiss and nuzzled into Johns neck, using his lips and teeth to make the doctor fizzle. John tipped his head back into the upholstery, allowing Jack more throat to play with. Jack took the invitation and ran with it, thoroughly ransacking all Johns exposed skin.

Johns breathing increased and his heart began to pound in his neck. He rucked his hips up to find Jacks hips and rut against them. Jacks moan was deeper yet and he was getting very hot under the collar.

"Doctor Watson, you are making me crazy." he gasped breathlessly.

"Kiss me." was all John could say.

They kissed again, just as deeply, intense tongue action tangling in their hot mouths. Jack found himself thrusting his hips in little circles without making any conscious command of them. He just needed the friction, the fucking action, because he wanted to fuck John Watson very VERY much.

The car swerved again and John broke the kiss.

"Sherlock...?"

"Would you mind awfully waiting until we got home to get naked? I am having trouble....driving....with you two making out like adolescents in the back...."

"Sure thing Sherlock!" Jack said cheerfully. 

"But by all means Captain Harkness, kiss my John soundly. He likes it." Sherlock added. "And...he needs it."

"But Sherlock-"

"John, I love you, but I am driving." Sherlock said. "Let him kiss you. Let him...he is quite good at it."

"And you would know this how...?" John asked, as Jack began kissing his neck again.

"Educated at Eton, John...." was all Sherlock said.

John sighed as Jack found a yummy spot on his neck and spent some time nuzzling it. John moaned a lovely growly moan, his mind all colourful swirls of lustful interest. His cock was hard and full, and he loved the sensation of rutting it against Jack.

They kissed deeply for the rest of the trip, sighing and growling and moaning, licking at each others throats, nipping at lush bottom lips, and rutting madly against each other.

When Sherlock announced that they were home it was difficult to walk up the back steps from the rear parking lot. Sherlock took Johns hand and clung to it. Jack followed, hands in his pockets, whistling merrily.

Once inside Sherlock steered them all to his room.

"Please, continue. I'll watch. I may join in. But I want to see you make my John feel good Jack. Please. He is...."

"The most precious man in the world?" Jack whispered, holding John by the upper arms and staring so intently into his eyes that John blushed pink.

And then John nearly passed out when Sherlock said "Yes."

#


	34. THREESOME BLISS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yum...just yum...

MEET

CHAPTER 34: THREESOME BLISS

John laid on his back on Sherlocks bed, in just his jeans, covered by the still dressed body of Captain Jack Harkness. Jack kissed him, teasingly, no tongue, and John wriggled to get more. Jack held himself up just a little bit off Johns body, pinning the doctors wrists, making John arch up to get any friction. John growled and Jack chuckled. 

"I like making you reach for me John." Jack whispered, and his accent made John gasp and reach again with his body. Jack smiled and kissed Johns neck, making the doctor moan and go all boneless.

Sherlock, meanwhile, had divested himself of his coat and his scarf, and had sat himself in a chair that best let him access the action. He had one hand to his lips as if thinking, although mostly his mind was telling him he had the sexiest most gorgeous man in the world as his lover, and his other had trailed over the growing hardness in his trousers.

"Please Jack, kiss me." John moaned.

"I am darling." Jack laughed, continuing to kiss Johns throat, which John arched up for him, despite wanting lip-lock action.

Sherlock heard a small sound come from his own throat and was mildly surprised. Christ, did John look that debauched when aching for HIS kisses? That though was too delicious!

Finally Jack put John out of his misery and lowered his body onto the doctor. He claimed Johns desperate lips with his own and the sound John made sent blood to Sherlocks already well hard cock.

Jack pushed his hips against John as he kissed John passionately, his hands still pinning Johns wrists down firmly. John loved the feeling of being enveloped like this but what was really making him hot was his Sherlock watching him. He tried to be extra sexy just for him, and it really wasn't that difficult. Jack was very good.

Jack moved his hot mouth down Johns collar bone and then across to one of his nipples, which was already hard from the friction against Jacks shirt and braces. Jack used the tip of his tongue in a little point to tease over the flesh there and John shivered and moaned quietly, eyes fluttering closed.

Jack hollowed his cheeks and sucked Johns nipple into his mouth, using enough suction to bring a little blood to the surface. John whimpered and opened his eyes, his hazy orbs finding Sherlocks but the detective was not sure what he was seeing. He seemed a little out of it. So Sherlock ran his thumbnail up the length of his own hard cock, trapped by the cloth of his trousers. John was obviously observant enough to make a sweet choking sound in his throat. Sherlock smiled, eyes dark.

Jack spent quite some time ravishing Johns other nipple and John writhed beneath Jack, his whole body warm with want. 

Sherlock gave up pretending all he wanted to do was watch. He slid in behind Jack and circled his waist with his arms, gently pulling him off John. John whimpered with loss but when he saw Sherlock claim Jacks lips in a deep kiss he forgot his own need and drooled at the sexy beauty of these two impressive men locking lips. From his position on the bed he could see throat muscles working and lips being sucked and bitten. It about did his head in and he pressed his hard cock through his jeans.

Then Sherlocks long fingers were undoing Jacks shirt buttons, sliding the leather braces off his shoulders, and then the shirt. Sherlocks hands then slid up and took Jacks neck in a firm grip, thumbs on his adams apple, so he could deepen the kiss. Jack was happy to use his tongue inside Sherlocks mouth but still managed to undo Sherlocks shirt. Sherlock removed his hands from Jacks nape but kept his lips locked to Jacks as he rucked the sleeves of his shirt off, leaving the garment to fall where it may. Then he pressed himself back to Jacks bare chest, returning those pretty hands to Jacks neck.

The depth of the kiss had John spellbound on the bed. He knew from personal experience that Sherlock was sexy and beautiful and somewhat ethereal, but to see it from the outside made all the saliva in Johns mouth dry up.

"....cah..." he said, and rubbed himself harder. God, he could come just from watching these two men kissing like that.

Then Jack reached between their bodies and began to rub Sherlock with the flat of his hand. Sherlock moaned and Johns eyes rolled back. Oh my God, was that debauched sound even legal? Sherlock broke the kiss, left his hands where they were on Jack and pressed his forehead to The Captains', eyes closed. His hips pushed into Jacks hand, abdomen rippling, gasping in pleasure.

"Fuuuuuuck me...." John whispered, and rolled one of his own nipples, rutting up into his hand. Sherlock tipped his head to the side a little, bright eyes locking to Johns. He smiled and then bit his plush bottom lip, just for John. John clapped his own hand over his mouth to stop the pathetic whimpers from falling out of his mouth.

Jack tilted Sherlocks head back and began to lick and suck and nibble at all the beautiful velvet throat skin laid out for him. Sherlocks eyes rolled closed and he rumbled, deep in his throat.

"...condoms, lube?" Jack asked then, throat thick with lust.

"Top drawer..." Sherlock gasped his answer. Jack turned to open the drawer with trembling fingers and Sherlock collapsed onto John to kiss him madly. Johns deep groans were wrenched from his throat. Kissing the man he loved who had just been kissing someone else was down right eye meltingly wrong but oh fuck me did it ever turn him on!

As Sherlock worked his way down Johns heated body with kisses that made him shiver, Jack was working the trousers and underwear off Sherlock. Then, as Jack lubed up two of his fingers, Sherlock dragged Johns jeans and pants off, letting Johns hard cock bounce free. Before John could even cope with how sexy this was, Sherlock had taken him deep into his mouth, at the same time as taking Captain Harkness' fingers deep inside him.

Jack worked to stretch Sherlock gently, fucking the detective with agile fingers, but avoiding the sweet spot. He did not want Sherlock coming too soon. Sherlock felt so sexy like this he sucked John deeper than usual, repressing his gag reflex and using his throat to stimulate John. John was still whimpering into his own hand.

"Take you hand away doctor, let us hear you." Jack demanded as he pulled his fingers free of Sherlocks tight hole.

John did so, grabbing the back of Sherlocks head with that same hand and thrusting his cock deeper down Sherlocks beautiful throat. Sherlock adjusted himself to this new onslaught but did not stop sucking his John down.

Jack tore a condom free, rolled it onto his own cock, lubed it up and pushed his hardness slowly into Sherlock. The detective groaned into Johns cock and the vibration made John gasp and arch, and then fuck into Sherlock again, tiny but hard thrusts, that had him clamping his teeth shut against all the fuck sounds he wanted to make.

When Jack began to move Sherlock became stock still. And then, as Jacks pace picked up, so did his eager sucking on Johns dick. Then the detective actively pushed back to meet Jacks cock, sheathing it deliciously in his slick, wet heat.

"Do him harder Jack!" John demanded through clenched teeth. "He loves it real rough..." 

"Rough, huh?" Jack gasped wetly, then grabbed Sherlocks hips, spread both his and Sherlocks thighs wider, and began to rut into Sherlock with piston-like precision. Sherlock whimpered around Johns cock and John collapsed back, fucking Sherlocks velvet mouth harder now, not letting himself hold back.

Sherlock had never felt dirtier, pinned as he was on these two hard cocks, each taking him roughly, and he was quite taken with the used and abused feeling. He would do this again, he decided.

Jacks lubed hand reached around to fist fuck Sherlocks devine cock and Sherlock completely lost himself. He sucked on John, fucked back on Jacks cock, and forward into Jacks hand. 

Watching Jacks face crazy with lust over the gorgeous tight arse of his boyfriend topped John over the edge. He clenched his jaw, thrust up into Sherlocks mouth, and came in gigantic spurts, screaming out to God, and Jesus, and then as much of Sherlocks name as he could get out before his world collapsed in pure white light of a lust so dizzying he about passed out.

The taste of John on his tongue is what set Sherlock coming, spilling his seed over Jacks fist, sucking hard on Johns cock, garbling nonsense through the thick globs of Johns spunk as it coated his tongue.

And in five more enormous thrusts, Jack Harkness was coming, rutting into Sherlocks tight arse with every spurting spasm, screaming Sherlocks name and throwing his head back to howl like a wolf at the moon.

#


	35. BLACK DOGS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John battles a sudden depression

MEET

CHAPTER 35: BLACK DOGS

Greg woke up with a scream of terror. He had been stuck under the gleaming scalpel of Micah with no hope of escape, only this time the prick also had his Mycroft....

"Gregory, you are safe." Mycrofts voice came soft, like velvet to his ears. He reluctantly opened his eyes and stared. His Mycroft was sitting next to his hospital bed, looking as if he had not slept for days. This was because he had not slept for days.

"Mycroft...." Greg croaked. Mycroft lent forward with a cup of water. Greg sucked on the straw and lovely cold water wet his throat. "Mycroft...how long...?"

"Three days."

"Damage?"

"Healing."

"Mycroft, please, details."

"Really?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Please." Greg said, voice husky. "Don't patronise me and do NOT treat me as of I am made of glass."

"Of course Gregory. I have known you long enough to realise you can handle more than most men." Mycroft said. "Forgive me."

"Forgiven. Spill."

"You have lost a great deal of blood and many centimetres of flesh." Mycroft began. Greg blanched and then nodded for Mycroft to go on. "Micah crafted a design on your chest reminiscent of ritual scarring some people get done called scarification. He did quite a professional job, if that means anything to you."

Greg could see the grip Mycroft had on the handle of his umbrella grow white-knuckled.

"What is it? What did he carve?"

"Chang and Eng Bunker." Mycroft said softly. "The worlds most famous freaks."

Greg nodded.

"The original Siamese twins." he said. 

"You will want it removed no doubt." Mycroft said then. "I have already spoken to a plastic surgeon."

"No." Lestrade said, staring at the ceiling.

"No? Why ever not Gregory?" the grip twisted on the umbrella.

"Mycroft, I have just gone through the most amount of agonising pain I ever want to go through. If nobody ever....EVER touches my chest in a nasty way again it will be too soon. Don't...just don't...please..." Greg was unaware that tears had started until Mycroft used a nice soft warm hand to wipe them away.

"Of course Gregory. I should have realised. Are you in pain now?"

Lestrade shook his head. He was pretty much numb from the neck down.

"Is there anything you need?"

"Kiss me Mycroft. Let me know you are real and it's over."

Mycroft got to his feet instantly, dipped his head and kissed Gregs lips softly. Greg tilted his head up and kissed his man back. 

"Thank God you are safe Greg...if I lost you I would have been half a man. I am not sure I could...cope."

"I'm safe thanks to you. Thank you for....that."

"I did not do it on my own."

"I am glad you have such loyal men."

"Sherlock and his friend Jack also helped. Jack has very a reliable team of experts at his disposal." Mycroft was absent mindedly stroking Gregs face.

"I don't remember."

"And John created a whole new Alter just for your rescue." Mycroft added, and smiled a tiny smile at Lestrades look of surprise.

"Really?"

"An obnoxious French man called Jude."

"oh...I remember not being able to understand him...I thought I had been struck in the head."

"He was quite obnoxious. Smoked. But he got the job done."

"Mycroft....when can I get out of here?" Lestrade asked then, reaching up to grab Mycrofts hand, and hold it against his cheek.

"Please, Gregory, don't be stubborn. Stay in as long as they need you to. Please. Even if it is just for me." 

"Oh for you Mycroft, I will do anything. But I want to go home, be with you, relax without having to....put on a face."

"I understand. Give it a few days lover. Please."

"Of course Mycroft. Of course."

"Thank you Gregory."

"I love you Mycroft."

#

Jack left fairly quickly after having his way with Sherlock. John was happy to have a quick shower and crawl back into bed, leaving the shower free for Sherlock. 

John burrowed under the duvet and calmed his mind. The last day had been nuts, and he had not even been present for most of it. Having a hot threesome certainly made him feel better but now...strangely, he felt a little bereft.

Okay, okay...what was going on? He was safe, they got Greg out alive, Sherlock was not hurt...what was this empty feeling? He had just been well loved by two gorgeous men..one of whom he loved with everything he had. 

He was always told since a tiny boy he would never find love, never be anything. And here he was, a doctor with a distinguished Military career, a part time job helping sick people, and a great hobby running around London with his crazy lover.

And oh yeah, he was certifiably nuts.

God...where had that come from...? He had only very rarely thought of himself as crazy, and only fleetingly, and never since coming out as DID to Sherlock...or, well, Sherlock discovered his DID and accepted it, and John ran with it! But he had always known he was different, simply because of his childhood. At med school nobody else had a Da like his, a childhood like this, hangups like his.

And nobody he knew had DID. He had never met anyone else who had DID, nor did he ever expect to. It was a really rare sort of nuts.

How did Sherlock even cope? This new Alter, smoking and from all accounts, obnoxious and pushy. How can Sherlock even like a bloke like that, a crazy, schitzo, weird, unstable, nut bag like him!

Before he knew it, he was sobbing. Why was he crying? He had just had...just had...he had just woken face first into Lestrads mutilated body for fucks sake. He had been the sacrificial vessel for a cult and Moriarty tried to fillet him, and Sherlock!

How had his life come to this?

He curled up into himself and allowed the sobbing to take over his whole body. He was still morbidly crying when Sherlock came in, fresh from his shower. He saw the state of his man and instantly crawled under the duvet and curled around him. He hugged John tight to him, made soothing noises and kissed his temple. 

"John, what is it?"

John could not answer but just having Sherlock there made him feel better. He allowed himself to cry. It felt damn good. 

So Sherlock just covered John and kept him safe into the night.

#


	36. H.O.U.N.D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John runs away

MEET

CHAPTER 36: H.O.U.N.D

When Sherlock woke in the morning he found a yellow post it note on his pillow.

CHECK YOUR PHONE. JOHN. 

Sherlock scrambled to find his phone, switched it on and straight away got a txt buzz. He pressed 'new message'.

SHERLOCK, I NEED SOME TIME AWAY. DON'T WORRY, PLEASE, I AM OKAY, I JUST WANT SOME TIME TO THINK. THESE LAST FEW MONTHS HAVE BEEN HECTIC. I JUST NEED TO, I DUNNO, STOP. JUST FOR A FEW DAYS. I WILL TXT YOU. LOVE JOHN. 

Sherlock felt cold. What in the actual fuck! Was this real? Was John coerced? And fuck....stop HOW? 

He was about to txt Lestrade when he remembered, Lestrade was still in the hospital. This effectively barred Mycroft too. Then he noticed on the bedside table two things. Johns empty wallet and the tracker from his phone. So this was really John doing this. Johns decision.

He had been black last night. Really black. But that was to be expected, he had gone through so much lately. And combine that with his childhood. No wonder he needed a break.

But away from HIM?

Sherlock tried to simmer his ego down. He knew how important he was to John. But he should be with John, and more, John should have...should have ASKED for help. Should have asked HIM for help! 

Sherlock smacked himself in the head in frustration. His first instinct was to hunt him down, of course, but he knew that was just his ego. His huge hurt ego. 

After pacing Sherlock realised....he would have to actually let John do this..on his own! 

"Buggery fuck!" Sherlock swore, then he dressed and headed to the hospital to see Lestrade.

#

John was quite pleasantly Rats Arsed, and he still had a lovely full beer in front of him. His head was spinning and he knew crap was spewing from his mouth but his entertaining companion did not seem to mind. In fact, kept buying him beers, and encouraging this to drink them.

"You know who's cute? The guy who played...what's his name..." John was saying.

"The actor guy?" Slurred Henry Knight, smiling at John. Sure, he had had a crush on the doctor since the whole imagining hounds thing from Baskerville, but to have him come and stay for a few days was beyond his dreams.

"The actor guy, yeah..." John giggled, sipping his ninth beer. Ninth! It was amazing the man was still on his stool. Seriously.

"Yeah, he's really cute." Henry said then, only on his third beer and feeling fine. He was successfully liquoring up his man crush and it seemed to be working a treat.

"You're cute..." John said, eyes rolling a bit in his head.

Suddenly all Henry could see was John and all he could hear was his own heart thumping. All pub noise died and it was just John and Henry, in a pool of light of Henrys' making. 

"Come back to my place." Henry said, whispering, trying to keep the beggy from his voice.

"Okay." John said, slammed back the beer and attempted to stand. The world tipped on its axis but lovely, warm, sweet smelling...strong...muscelly....pretty...Henry was there to hold him up, help him out, drive him back to his place.

Henry's bed was so soft and warm, and Henry was also soft and warm, and then he was being thoroughly and passionately kissed by Henry and it felt really really good...

#

Lestrade looked awful, but Sherlock knew enough not to tell him. They ended up chatting trivialities for quite some time. Lestrade bolstered up a bit and looked quite pink by the time Mycroft arrived for his afternoon visit.

"And where is Doctor Watson this fine day?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock looked uncomfortable.

"Out....finding himself..." Sherlock motioned with his hand. 

"Is he alright?" Lestrade asked, a little frown on his face.

"When Jude left him, at the hangar, he thought he had..done that...to you. It put him out of sorts." Sherlock said reluctantly. 

"Christ." Lestrade sighed. He could only imagine.

"The last few months have been hard for him." Mycroft acknowledged. "I am surprised the threesome did not help."

"Threesome...? Lestrade choked.

"Mycroft, perhaps you should find a hobby rather than voyeurism. I hear cross stitching is fun." Sherlock sighed.

"Threesome? Who on earth with?" Lestrade asked. His question went unanswered. 

Sherlock sighed then.

"But I should be-" Sherlock began, then stopped. "I should be Johns..."

"What, Sherlock? His 'everything'?" Mycroft asked, gently, but still sardonically. "I think you are asking too much of yourself. And too much of him." he fished his phone from his pocket.

"Any idea where he would go?" Lestrade asked then.

"A few." Sherlock sighed.

"I assume he removed his trackers." Mycroft looked up from his phone. "This tells me he is in your room at Baker street."

"Yes. He does not want to be found."

"So don't find him."Lestrade suggested.

"I'm...." Sherlock slumped. "I'm not." he admitted.

"I appreciate how difficult this must be for you." Lestrade said. "But if this is what he needs.."

Sherlock nodded, but it still felt bad.

#

Later that night Sherlock got a txt from John.

NOT DRUNKIN SUGAR MIS U- JOHHN

So...Baskerville then. That had actually not been on Sherlocks list.

And Baskerville meant Henry.

#


	37. TRAVELLING TXTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alters reach out and touch Sherlock.

MEET

CHAPTER 37: TRAVEL TXTS

Sherlock received a txt the next morning. He recognised the face of a sleeping Henry picture. The words were in French.

*WOKE UP NEXT TO THIS WHORE THIS MORNING. JOHN DID NOT FUCK HIM. HE WAS TOO DRUNK. ON THE ROAD AGAIN. -JUDE*

Sherlock was alternatively pleased John had not had sex with Henry but was scared as to where Jude would take his boyfriend next. 

Next a picture came from outside the Baskerville Compound. It was John, smiling like an idiot, hand blurry, waving. 

NO DOGS HERE. JUDE LET ME DRIVE. I DID NOT KILL US.-ROBIN.

Sherlock moaned. Who let a ten year old drive a rental? Jude was irresponsible!

The next txt came with no picture. 

STOPPING FOR BREAKFAST AT A B&B ALONG THE COAST. SEEMS I AM NOT IN CONTROL OF THIS JOY RIDE. LOVE YOU, DON'T WORRY.- JOHN

How was he supposed to not worry? Really?

A little while later a picture came in of the front of the car and the road.

SOOOOO BORING, WHERE ARE WE GOINNNGGG?- ROBIN

Sherlock txt back

STOP DRIVING, YOU ARE TEN YEARS OLD! WHERE IS HAMISH?-SH

OKAY SHERLOCK, I AM NOW IN THE DRIVERS SEAT AND....AND IN THE DRIVERS SEAT. NOT SURE WHERE WE ARE GOING BUT WE WILL KNOW WHEN WE GET THERE.-HAMISH

Sherlock tried to continue with his metacarpal studies but his worry for John was invading his day. He knew what road John and his Alters were on but as to where was he going and why? Only Johns personalities knew. At least they cared enough to txt.

The next picture was John on his back, in the grass, arm holding the phone up, taking a selfie. He looked happy, eyes lidded and coy, and he was biting his lower lip.

THINKING OF YOU. SUCKING ME OFF. IN THE GRASS.-FLIRT

Sherlock blushed. That would actually go down a treat right now. He shifted a bit in his seat.

There was a long time before the next one. It was a series of pictures. And then, Sherlock knew where John was headed.

A Tor.

A local pub.

The B&B Hamish made love to him in.

Johns old house.

The well.

"Oh my God...John..no..." Sherlock whispered to himself. John was back where he began. The Fells! What was he planning to do? Why was he there?

He was torn. He wanted to get a car and race to the scene now. Or commandeer one of Mycrofts helicopters. But all he had was his trust in John.

And his phone.

PLEASE LOOK AFTER THEBODY. I LOVE YOU ALL. REMEMBER THAT. -SH

He got no return txt. He tried not to worry. He tried to distract himself. He did a poor job. Eventually he gave up and paced. It was frustrating not being in control and have no avenue open to him. How much did he trust John anyway? Why was he not there? Why hadn't John taken him along?

Late that afternoon he finally got a txt. It was a picture of just an ordinary grove of trees in the forest John, Jack and Harry frolicked in as a child.

WHERE I KILLED DA.-FURY

"Oh John..." Sherlock was so sad and worried he could not even play his violin. Nothing would settle him. Damn John for worrying him like this!

Later, another txt.

I WAS TOO ANGRY TO TXT EARLIER. I WAS ALL.....BACK WHEN IT HAPPENED AND I WAS FURIOUS. GUESS I BLACKED OUT. SAW I SENT YOU A PICTURE OF WHERE FURY WAS MADE. I AM OKAY NOW. COMING BACK HOME TOMORROW. WILL YOU HAVE ME?-JOHN

What did he mean, would he have him? Is he completely stupid?

YOU STUPID FOOL, OF COURSE I WILL. I HAVE MISSED YOU.-SH

In eight hours John was back. Sherlock swept him into his arms and held him tightly to him, only crying a very very little. 

"Never NEVER do that again John. I like your Alters but if they kidnap you again I will personally punch every single adult one of them and...I don't know, send Robin to bed without his supper or something!"

"Sherlock...I had to do it. But...I have to tell you something. Please, can we go to your room?"

"Of course...." 

When they got there they sat on the bed. John took both Sherlocks hands in his. Sherlock felt a twist of worry.

"Sherlock, I love you." John said, and that would normally make Sherlock feel wonderful but....something was different. "I love you...madly, but...I think..."

Sherlock swallowed.

"John-"

"I think I have to leave you."

#


	38. NO WAY OUT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John explains what Sherlock has missed and Sherlock calls Johns bluff.

MEET

CHAPTER 38: NO WAY OUT

"No." said Sherlock.

"Sherlo-"

"NO!" Sherlock insisted, before John could even get the 'ck' of his name out. "You will NOT leave me. You will NOT!"

"You simply must listen to what I have to say. " John said softly. His voice was weird. Not at all emotional. More....resigned. Like he was already out the door and gone.

Not happening!

"No, John." Sherlock said again, as if saying no enough times would stop this madness.

"No, you won't listen, or just no, because you are a stubborn git?"

Sherlock swallowed, staring into Johns squirrel-bright eyes.

"Please, John, don't leave me." he whispered.

"Sherlock, I have to." John whispered back.

"Why? Why for fucks sake?" Sherlock spat and to his horror his eyes went blurry. He clung to Johns hands fiercely. John let him.

"Because I learned something on my road trip." John said. "And it is something I will never burden you with. So if I go now...." he gulped, then went on. "If I leave you now, you will be happier."

"How?" Sherlock tried to shout but his throat had closed over. "How does that even make sense?"

"Christ Sherlock this is hard enough..." John let go of Sherlock and stood. Sherlock had lost all power in his legs or he would have stood as well. As it was all he could do was stare up at John as the doctor began to pace.

"John, I will not have you just leave me." Sherlock said. He was quite alarmed at how the prospect of John going had reduced him to this base emotion. He had abandonment issues, and he never realised it until now, until the very love of his life was threatening to leave him.

"I very nearly did not come back."

"Don't say that!"

"You deserve better than that Sherlock, I know that. You deserve better than..." John indicated himself. "...this..."

"John, when have I ever said I want anything but you?"

John drew in a shaky breath, and held Sherlocks eyes with his own.

"I feel as though I have waited my whole life for you." he began. "Like you are my reward for all the crap I have had to put up with in my life." He was staring at the floor now, hands in his jacket pockets. "But that is hardly fair on you. So, I have taken my reward, thank you very much, and enjoyed it for the time I have had it. Thank you Sherlock."

"John, this is ridiculous. There is no time limit on enjoyment."

"Of course there is Sherlock. Nothing lasts forever. I would rather leave now than have this, what we have, destroyed in some horrible way."

"We have been through horror and survived." Sherlock pointed out.

"No...I mean yes, we have. But I am a ticking time bomb Sherlock. I know I will go off at any time. I just don't want you anywhere near me when I do."

"John, you complete idiot, it does not matter! I will take what you have to deal with and I will absorb it. That's what being partners means."

"You don't know what you are offering Sherlock, you don't have all the facts!"

"Then tell me. What have I missed?" Sherlock threw that out as a challenge. What could he have possibly missed in his deduction of John?

"The most important thing of all Sherlock."

"I doubt that John." even upset, Sherlock could find insult with the underestimation of his intelligence.

"Sherlock, I am terminal."

All the air went out of Sherlocks lungs, and a cold prickle ran down his body. A quick assessment of Joh showed him robust, pink cheeked, a little pale beneath the blush bit that was to be expected in the highly charged emotional state he was in. But terminal? No signs. He showed no signs at all.

So, not dying. Yet. What did he mean? Some sort of figurative sense?

"What....do you mean?" Sherlock thought to ask then.

"I mean some time, sooner rather than later, I am going to off myself Sherlock. It is inevitable."

"THE FUCK YOU ARE!" Sherlock roared, surging to his feet and gripping John by his upper arms.

"Ow, jeez, Sherlock, loosen-"

"I will watch you like a hawk, day and night you little bastard!" Sherlock hissed.

"And what sort of relationship would that make Sherlock? You would distrust everything I do, follow me everywhere I go, never relax in my company until the constant state of hyper awareness breaks you down and one of two things happens. You walk away or I take my life in that one minute you let you guard down."

"John, stop this, please!" 

"I very nearly drove myself into a tree on the drive home Sherlock. The thought just popped into my head and I figured....why not?"

"John!" Sherlock started to shake. "But you didn't. See? You didn't do it!"

"Only because that would not have been fair to you, to not say good bye, or give you some sort of warning. And now, I have done both. Sherlock..." John looked up into Sherlocks devastated face, then said, in a soft and even voice; "Let me go, love." 

"God, NO, John, never!" Sherlock clasped an unresisting John to him, squeezing him in arms like bands of steel. "Never!"

"You only have to turn your back for a minute and I will kill myself Sherlock." John whispered harshly, his lungs squeezed against his detective. "It's the ending possible for me. I would rather not have you watch."

Sherlock growled and shoved John from him. John stumbled, catching himself against the wall, using trembling arms to keep himself from sliding down to the floor.

"How? How will you do it John?" Sherlock hissed."This whole flat is a smorgasbord for you."

"Sherlock, what are you-"

"Scalpel? Sharp, clean, efficient. In fact, anything sharp and a hot bath." Sherlock snapped then. "Three minutes to bleed out to unconsciousness, slip under the water. What about pills? You can get them, you're a doctor."

"Sherlock-"

"You could hang yourself, not many places in this flat to string yourself up with but I am sure an enterprising young man like yourself could find a way. Maybe out the window, let the world see."

"Stop-"

"The oven is gas, that would be a quiet way to go." Sherlock went on, pacing like a caged tower now. "You could stand in the middle of the road, let a truck run you down, step in front of a train, fall in front of a bus, drive your car off a bridge...so many ways John!"

"Sherlock, what are you-"

"But I know which way you will choose John. Known it from the second you spewed your horror at me five minutes ago." Sherlock stopped pacing and slotted his eyes at John. He was breathing hard, and trembling with anger and fear.

"The easy way, your gun. Very manly, very instant." 

Sherlock crossed to the dresser, opened the top drawer and pulled out Johns browning. He turned back to John, staring at the gun flat in his hand. 

"Christ, Sherlock...." John whispered hoarsely.

Sherlock strode over and offered the gun to John.

"Do it. You think you can leave me that easily? Do it. Right now. In front of me, you coward!" 

John could not catch his breath. His heart hammered so loudly he thought he was bleeding from his ears. But he held Sherlocks eyes with his, determined not to break down and cry. 

Then he snatched the gun from Sherlock and pressed the cold barrel up under his chin. 

#


	39. HAMISH SETS JOHN STRAIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish has had just about enough of Johns selfishness!

MEET

CHAPTER 39: HAMISH SETS JOHN STRAIGHT

John felt himself falling, as if from a very great height, and it was only when the wooden slats of the floor came up to meet him that he realised Sherlock had struck him, king hit him perfectly across the eyebrow.

That was hardly fair, he'd had no time to contemplate weather to pull the trigger or not. The gun had flown across the room and spun into the wall, way out of his grasp. He curled into himself on instinct. Now would come the blows to the head, the boot, the fists, the spit and the verbal abuse. This, at least, he understood. It's what happened when someone was upset with you. They hurt you until they grew tired and then went to the pub.

But that did not happen. Instead, Sherlock brushed the hair from his face, then sat on the floor and dragged him up onto his lap to cradle him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I hit you, but I was scared. It was instinct, not your fault, mine, I was so scared, I just reacted..."

Sherlock was stroking his face, holding him tightly. Johns arms were pinned between his chest and Sherlocks. His vision was swimming, it had been a very good hit, and his head was aching. He let Sherlock rock him. It felt nice.

"John, never let me call your bluff ever again." Sherlock said then, a small hitch in his voice. "Christ, you were really going to do it!" 

John nodded into Sherlocks chest, but felt strangely safe there. It was warm, and he was hidden from the world, it was dark.

"Why?"

"Can't do it. Too much." John said, muffled in Sherlocks shirt. 

"Do what? What is too much?" 

"Exsist. It's too hard to go on like this."

"Like what?"

"Bonkers."

"You mean your DID?"

"No, Sherlock. I mean I am broken. Put whatever Name you want on it. I don't...FIT anywhere."

"Do you really believe that?

John didn't answer. There was no use insisting. Sherlock would always argue.

"Don't let him win, John. He was always wrong about you." Sherlock whispered. John felt irrationally angry.

"How do you know he was wrong, Sherlock? How in the hell would you know?" he struggled to get up but Sherlock held firm. He was too tired and injured to struggle long. He flopped against his lover again, sighing.

"When will you realise, how you were brought up was wrong. Your Da was WRONG!" Sherlock told him, kissing the top of Johns head. "And whatever he told you as he was beating you was aiming to hurt you, to tear you down, to make you a non-person. Don't let him do that to you sweetheart, you mean too much to me."

John said nothing. Once again, whatever he said Sherlock would not believe.

The door to the flat opened and Mycroft called out.

"Sherlock? Doctor Watson?" 

"In here Mycroft." Sherlock called.

Mycroft took on the scene with hardly a lifted eyebrow. 

"I am sorry about this John." Sherlock whispered, as John felt a sudden sting in his neck. 

"The fuuu-" John jumped, and tried to escape Sherlocks arms again. Sherlock held on tightly.

"Don't struggle John." Mycroft said. "You will soon feel better."

John felt the drug start to work. His extremities began to get numb.

"Sherlock...I'll never forgive you for this..." he said, and slipped into unconsciousness, his head falling over Sherlocks arm.

"I know." Sherlock whispered to his lover, and only then allowed himself to sob.

#

John was floating and there were voices. After a while he recognised one. It was Hamish and he was pissed. 

"The fuck you think you are doing you idiot?"

"Hamish?"

"I have been keeping you alive since you were five years old, and this is how you repay me?"

"I am tired Hamish."

"You ungrateful git!"

"Sherlock deserves better."

"Sherlock has EARNED us!"

"My own Da hated me, Hamish."

"Your own Da was a cunt"

"Hamish, let me sleep, I am just so tired."

"No. You can sleep when we have finished with you."

"Hamish...please, I just want to...stop! Stop the pain! Just...I want to die."

"You prick, you Lilly-liveried coward, you useless bastard! Don't you dare! DON'T YOU DARE!"

"Hamish...."

"Stop whining. For fucks sake John, you survived your childhood, a cult, and two tours in Afghanistan! Life, this life, this love, Sherlock...it is your reward!" 

"But Sherlock-"

"Has been waiting all his life for us. Love all of us. Where else would you have found a man who accepts that you are shattered like this? Nowhere. That's it, just nowhere. He is your soul mate, you idiot, now stop wallowing, love him, and WAKE UP!"

John sucked in a great breath, screaming awake in horror. Had he actually held a live weapon to his chin? In front of SHERLOCK? What the hell was wrong with him!!

Greg Lestrade was sitting in a chair by his bed, swathed in bandages. He smiled at John.

"Welcome back roomie." he said. 

"Greg, where is Sherlock?" 

"He and Mycroft are just outside."

"Why am I here?"

"They said you had a seizure."

John nodded, thankful the real reason was not common knowledge. 

"How are you, Greg?" John asked then.

"I am doing really well. No infection, healing well."

"And emotionally?"

"That will take a while, Doctor Watson." Lestrade smiled in a friendly way. He liked John, didn't take offence. "And you John?"

"I just want to go home." John whispered, and was surprised when his eyes started stinging. "I just want Sherlock and I want to go home." Then he turned his back on Lestrade and proceeded to cry quietly to himself. 

Lestrade patted his back a few times and retired, stiffly, to his bed.

John allowed himself to cry. He felt really bad for what he had done to Sherlock, and to his Alters, but for some reason he also found himself glad. He had come through something really bad, wanting to actually kill himself, and thanks to the care of Sherlock (admittedly, getting his brother to drug him and put him in hospital) and his main Alter, he was still alive.

And dammit if he just didn't want to stay that way!

But he was very aware it would be a long, hard road, and hey...he had Sherlock.

# 

When Sherlock came in and saw John curled on his bed, back to the room, he paused. He looked over at Lestrade, who shrugged, then back to Johns back.

Fuck it, he loved this man too much!

He crossed to the bed, hopped up behind his lover, and curled into him, putting his arm over him. Johns hand met his arm and clung to him gratefully. 

"I'm so sorry Sherlock. Will you forgive me?"

"I will forgive you anything John. I love you. And, I need you." he whispered into Johns hair. 

"Sherlock...I am really in love with you. Don't ever let me tell you any different. Please." 

"Silly man." Sherlock sighed. 

They held each other for a long time, in silence, it being enough to just be in each others arms.

#


	40. IT'S ALL FINE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flirt distracts Lestrade from darts.
> 
> And oh yeah, there's a twist....

MEET

CHAPTER 40: IT'S ALL FINE

ONE MONTH LATER 

"Flirt, you do NOT play darts!" Sherlock hissed in Flirts ear. Flirt giggled. 

"You like it when I play with YOUR dart!"

"Of course I do, what does that have to do with this? You are going to loose. Lestrade is the West Midlands Champion!"

"Leatrade is going down Sherlock." Flirt said, then giggled. "But not on me, mores the pity!"

"OI, John, you up or ya going to eye-fuck your sexy boyfriend all night?" Lestrade called from over at the darts area of their local pub. 

"It's FLIRT, handsome and am I ever up!" Flirt shouted as he made his way over to where Lestrade and some of the other Yarders were waiting. Sherlock groaned. They were going to loose fifty pounds on this game. Luckily, it was Johns fifty...or unluckily for John who would have no idea where it went.

Lestrade was still a bit stiff around his chest but was improving every day. Part of his physical therapy was exercise so he chose darts at the pub. His physio said that because his chest was flexed during darts it was actually a very good idea.

Flirt had not been out on a long time, not since a few days after John had been hospitalised for his "seizure". A particularly pretty nurse had come by to do his obs and WHAM! Flirt was out. Until then Sherlock had not realised Flirt liked women and he had a minor inner conniption at the thought of having to battle Flirt with women AND men. But Flirt was not malicious nor hard to distract so it was okay.

But Flirt sure had a soft spot for hunky DI Lestrade. Sherlock had come to terms with this ages ago, and, if he were honest, he could certainly see what Mycroft found attractive about the man. He was easy going but professional, even to the point of coming back to work a week early just to do paperwork. 

And he was a hell of a darts player.

Flirt was going to get creamed, and not in the good way.

Lestrade lined up a shot but before he could throw, Flirt tangled himself around the Detective and whispered something in his ear. Lestrades eyes opened wide, he stared at Flirt....and then he nodded slowly. Sherlock groaned. What in the fuck now?

Lestrade missed the board entirely but for some reason he grinned. Sherlock found out why a split second later when Flirt planted his lips against Lestrades and kissed him. Deeply. With tongue. Sherlock hid his face in his hands and prayed to any major Deities that would listen. None came to his aid. In fact, when he looked up,Lestrade had Flirt bent over his arm and was dipping him like he was dancing the tango, only kissing him not dancing with him. 

"Oh my sweet fanny-" Sherlock sighed, but as Flirt came up for air and the pub cheered he found himself laughing along with the crowd, and cheering for Flirt too.

Flirt waved to his fans, face flushed with happiness, and used his hands as fake fans to cool himself down. 

"Bullseye!" he cried and the pub erupted in cheers again. 

Sherlock shone with pride at how well Flirt looked, and underneath the flirty Alter, how well John was doing. It had been a long month but, with the help of weekly visits with Doctor Sean in her London office, John was getting better every day.

Flirt was still waving to her fans when John came back. He caught himself carefully, turned, found Sherlock and walked to his side.

"Hello lover." Sherlock smiled.

"Hello gorgeous." John said, taking Sherlock in his arms and kissing him behind the ear. 

Yeah, John was doing really well. All his Alters seemed to be in place, and Jude had even stayed. John had no idea why but he didn't question it. Hamish had his best interest at heart, as was proven when he saved John from coming straight home from hospital and using his own gun on himself.

Yeah, John was okay.

And if the stash of sleeping pills he had hidden from Sherlock called to him one day, then who was he to ignore it? If that happened then John knew it would be the right time and Hamish would let him go.

Until then, John and his Alters were fine. Just fine.

#

THE  
N  
D

**Author's Note:**

> That is the third ALTER'VERSE done, one more to go. More sexy hookups and mysteries and Alters out the yin yang, and will John ever succumb to the call of the sleeping tablets?
> 
> Suggestions and prompts welcome!!!!
> 
> Queenoftheuniverse Xx


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